Sweet Hearts
by watchfob
Summary: After the famous encounter at Netherfield Manor, William Darcy finds himself in quite the predicament. How can he hide his new-found feelings for Elizabeth Bennet when there's a bright red signal flare floating above his head? AUish, modern.
1. Day 1

**A/N—Hey everyone! This is my first P&P fic, so be nice. Just kidding. I'd love feedback and constructive criticism, so please review! A note on the first segment—if you haven't read/seen the first parts of P&P up until Jane and Lizzy leave Netherfield, you might be a little lost, hehe.**

**

* * *

**

**Day 1**

William Darcy woke on November 14th at 6:00 A.M., per usual, and started his daily routine. This included getting out of bed, stretching, and heading to the bathroom to take a shower and brush his teeth, in that order. On this particular day, Mr. Darcy was unusually absentminded and went through his rituals in body, but not in mind.

The past week had been a trying one. With the arrival of a slightly ill Jane Bennet on Tuesday, that event and the ones following culminated into a massive train wreck of an ordeal for poor Wills. The slightly ill Jane became the ill Jane, which brought the younger and (in his opinion, _but don't tell anyone_) more interesting Elizabeth Bennet running to her sick sister's side. By dinnertime, the ill Jane Bennet became the very ill Jane Bennet who could not bear to be taken from her sister's side at such a trying time (and vice versa).

Thus, the (in)famous Second Miss Bennet came to stay at Netherfield for nearly an entire week. And William saw much more of her than he ever cared to.

They butted heads constantly during this impromptu visit; indeed, he could clearly recall every argument and debate they'd had under this roof (and not at all with negative feelings). He remembered the flash of her eyes when she was challenged, and the determined set of her jaw when questioned. And who could forget the head-tilt-half-smile-sparkle-eyed look when Miss Elizabeth gained a victory?

It was true, he admired the lady, even if she wasn't _handsome enough to tempt_ (oh how he regretted ever saying those words) and _a lady of inferior birth_ (but in today's society, honestly, who cares?). Thus, the lady was frequent on his mind as of late. And thus, he was charmingly distracted until he had to brush his teeth.

The man carefully applied his toothpaste (_minty fresh, always the best_) onto his toothbrush with the precision of a neurosurgeon and gracefully lathered it onto his pearly whites. He brushed languidly (one hundred strokes on the right, the left, the front, and the surfaces thank you; by the time he got to brushing his tongue anything flew) and didn't look up until he had to floss his teeth.

With a long white strand of dental floss (once again, minty fresh) wrapped around his two index fingers, he finally graced the mirror before him with a glance. Immediately, he was struck, and presented a comically shocked and appalled figure in front of the sink.

Floating above his head was a small, bright, candy-red heart.

* * *

"Er… Will? What's with the whole, uh…," Charles motioned to his head with the hand that wasn't holding the banana that constituted his breakfast, "Aunt Jemima look?"

William scowled at Charles. Honestly, how was it that absolutely _no_ hats could be found in the _entire_ estate? Will had scoured the place from floor to ceiling and had only found a red bandana lying sad and forgotten in a corner in the (West Wing) laundry room. Not even _Caroline_ had anything, and she was on top of fashion—surely it wouldn't be wrong to assume she had _some_ sort of headwear.

But no.

"Shut up, Charles," William growled. "You wouldn't happen to have a hat I could borrow, would you?" Last chance. Please, dear God.

"No, sorry." And thus, the sound of hopes being shot down rang clear and true within Will's mind. At least Charles hadn't noticed the somewhat perceptible bump atop his head. Give thanks for small blessings.

"So you still haven't told me why you've got that thing on." Charles took a bite of the banana in his hand and munched away, happily.

Cripes.

"I—well—er—," William stuttered eloquently.

Charles raised his brows in good-natured amusement and surprise.

"I don't believe it!" he exclaimed when his bit of banana was satisfactorily consumed. "The great William Darcy at a loss for words? Next thing you know, you'll be rendered a lovesick puppy by some poor woman, and we all know how probable _that_ is!"

For some reason, this statement blackened his mood further. Charles regarded him with true astonishment and a little (very little, of course) bit of fear. He chuckled nervously and stuffed the rest of his banana in his mouth.

"So, ah," he said, this time not waiting for the fruit to travel down his esophagus before speaking. He swallowed. "I'm going to… go. Now." He pointed behind himself with his thumb.

"Where are you going?"

"Eh… out?"

"Can you get me a hat?" William tossed him a desperate look. "_Please?_" he added for good measure.

"Okay," Charles agreed, quite surprised and a little bit confused, but curious nonetheless about his friend's new fixation with cranial apparel. "What kind?"

"The kind that covers your head," Will said wryly. "It doesn't matter, as long as it works."

Charles shrugged.

"Sure," he said. "See you later, then." He turned to walk away. And then he walked away.

William huffed and crossed his arms on the couch, creating a charming picture reminiscent of a spoiled little boy who didn't get his way. He was truly adorable when he pouted like this, but that did not draw attention away from the bright red bandana (almost the same color as _it_) on his head.

After a moment of sulking, he heard the distinct clicking of heels on hardwood and Caroline Bingley entered the room, looking like she got her outfit straight off a model on the runway. At the sight of him, she lowered her face-consuming designer sunglasses and puckered her lips, as if about to kiss or be kissed, in what was her "assessment pose."

"My, Wills," she finally said with a conclusive sweep of the eyes, "what an… interesting outfit."

He glared at her handsomely, and she raised a perfectly arched brow. No words passed between the two of them and finally Caroline decided to continue on her interrupted path, leaving behind the faint smell of imported leather and name-brand perfume.

Mr. Darcy allowed himself a groan of frustration. Then, he stood and stalked off to lose himself in mind-numbing videogames.

* * *

"Will?"

Charles Bingley found his friend viciously attacking a plastic guitar in front of the large flat-screen television in the gaming room. The man's fingers were a blur of senseless, structured activity and the furrow of his brow bespoke intense focus and deep concentration.

Luckily for Charles, the song William was playing had reached its end.

"Will?" he tried again.

"Eh?" William turned around and let the guitar dangle from his neck by its strap. "Did you get my hat?"

"Sure did!" Charles replied with a grin. He produced a large and ridiculously gaudy sombrero from behind his back. A flicker of panic passed across Will's face.

"Charles!?"

Mr. Bingley enjoyed a few hearty laughs at the guitar hero's expense.

"You really need to loosen up, Will," Charles said, still chuckling. Wills mumbled something incoherent, but along the lines of, "If you were in my situation, you wouldn't be laughing, now, would you?"

Charles then held out a blue and white baseball cap, much to the relief of his friend.

"_Thank_ you," William said gratefully, taking the cap in his hand and setting the guitar down on the glass coffee table. He turned to leave. Charles watched him walk to the door in confusion.

"Hey, where are you going?"

Mr. Darcy half-turned to look at his savior.

"To put my hat on," he replied candidly. The confusion on Charles's face grew more intent.

"Why can't you just put it on here?" he asked reasonably. "It's not like you're changing your clothes or anything; it's just a hat!"

William had no plausible explanation for that, and said just so.

"Because… well, I have no good reason to tell you, besides the real reason, and I most certainly am not going to tell you that!"

Good job, Darcy. Pique his interest, why don't you?

The look on Charles's face was now not only mystified, but dangerously curious, and a bit hurt as well.

"What would you have to hide from me, Dub? I thought we were _mates!_"

William inwardly cursed. How dare Charles pull out the sentimental card? Only Charles ever called him Dub (as in the first syllable of 'W') and only when they were practically tots. Plus, it was _doubly_ offensive because he pulled the 'mates' card as well, a term once again extending back to their childhood. Will had been an avid Crocodile Hunter fan in his younger days, and therefore went through a period littered with Irwinisms—thus only his best friends were graced with the term 'mate.'

William sighed, but it came out more like a huff. Stupid Charles with his stupid stupidness.

"Fine," William conceded. "I will show you this, but you must not tell _anyone. A-ny-one._ Is that clear?"

Charles smiled.

"Don't worry Will," Charles assured him. "You can count on me."

William pursed his lips and wondered if what he was about to do was at all a smart thing to do. Charles was incredibly transparent. It wasn't his fault, though, poor soul.

With deliberate care, and, well, slowness, William took off the bandana. He then averted his gaze to the floor like a shamefaced schoolboy caught doing something bad.

Charles let out a surprised laugh.

"Ah! …My little boy is growing up!"

William leveled a glare at him, but the effect was completely negated by the cheerful little heart's happily bouncing up and down, glad to be let out of its confinement.

"Wow!" Charles continued. "I never knew… so this is your _first time?_"

The incredulity was evident in his voice. It was the same tone members of Will's circle used when saying things like, "So this is your _first time_ trying Checkerhouse's '87 White Wine Sherry?" As if it were impossible to believe. Why was it so impossible to believe?

"It's not—I'm not—," he protested. The traitor heart above his head counteracted any argument he could have made, however.

Charles was beside himself with delight.

"Who is she? What is she like? Do I know her?" he fired off rapidly. "Gosh, I'd always thought you'd already experienced that, since all those women are constantly throwing themselves at you. I figured at least _one _of them might have caught your fancy, maybe while you were travelling or something."

William shook his head.

"Not a one," he said. "To answer your question, yes, you know her, but I'll not tell you who she is!"

"Oh, come _on_, Will! She has to be someone new, since this is obviously a recent development. And by using my brilliant powers of deduction, I can only reason it to be one woman!"

Darcy paled.

"Don't say it—!"

"A Miss—!"

"Don't—!"

"Elizabeth—!"

"_Charles!_"

"Bennet!"

The heart quivered and grew a fraction of an inch. Charles clapped his hands, his face alight with childish glee. Then, he walked over to William and grabbed the heart. He examined it, turning it over in his fingers. He could feel the resistance it put up—it felt like an invisible rubber band was holding it to the spot above Mr. William Darcy's head. It was cool and smooth, and oh-so-very shiny.

And then Charles unceremoniously put the heart in his mouth.

William gaped at him, aghast.

Charles chewed it with complete indifference to Will's reaction. After he swallowed, a look came to his face reminiscent of a cat after having a bowl of warm cream. Or after eating a canary.

"Ah, bliss."

"You…!" William sputtered for a good four seconds. "You just ate my heart!"

"Indeed I did, friend, and it was _de-li-cious_."

William continued to stare.

"You just ate my heart!"

Charles rolled his eyes.

"Yes William; I just ate your heart."

A faint popping noise was heard, and Charles directed his gaze above William's head. Another heart had appeared (_back with a vengeance_). Charles grabbed that one, too.

"Try it," he said, holding it out to the still-shocked William. "It tastes like a big M&M. Except more… luxurious, I guess you can say. Almost like a Godiva M&M."

Will eyed the heart.

"Come on!"

With no small amount of trepidation, William took the heart. He felt the pull of it as well. Conscious of this, he quickly put it in his mouth (_take it like a Band-Aid_) and chewed.

Charles was right.

After the light candy crunch, a rich, smooth, creamy sweetness coated the inside of his mouth. The experience was something he could only describe as decadent, indulgent. Still, he couldn't shake the weirdness of the event.

He wouldn't be doing that again anytime soon.

"Awh… wow, Dub, Elizabeth Bennet? I… You had us all fooled, you know. You always suggested she was beneath your notice."

William scowled even as color bloomed on his cheeks.

"Yeah, well…" he grumbled. And then, he softened. His look, his tone of voice… "She's not." Oh yeah. Butter in a microwave.

Charles tut-tutted and shook his head, a bright smile adorning his face.

"I still can't get over it!"

William raised his eyes heavenward.

"Charles?"

"Hm?"

"Grab the other guitar so I can thrash you in this game." _Since I can't thrash you in real life._

The afternoon proceeded charmingly, if a bit tryingly, in Will's opinion. Charles would have his laughs. William would have his victories in the virtual world. And, of course, there was always Caroline.

* * *

**R&R! :D**


	2. Day 2

**A/N—Thanks for the reviews, guys! They make me happy. :D To clear things up, the whole Floating Heart Thing is almost like a rite of passage. It happens only when one falls in love for the **_**first**_** time. They're not all that big—the largest they can grow would be about the size of one's palm. And I must warn you: a subplot begins to develop in this chapter. **

* * *

**Day 2**

"You did _what!?_"

Charles let out a puff of breath and ran a hand through his hair. Normally, he wasn't one to be out of humor, but Will's constant bad mood was growing irritating. This was only the second day since The Incident. And now he had started up again. Good God, _why_ was he being such a pain about all this?

"You heard me, William. I invited them over," he said patiently, as a tired parent would speak to a child throwing a tantrum.

"Why would you invite _them_, as in _both?_ Haven't you had enough of _them_ this past week?Oh, my poor nerves…"

Charles laughed.

"You're beginning to sound like Mrs. Bennet, Will," he pointed out. This made William pause, and in the end he smiled wryly.

"To answer your question," Charles continued, "I happen to enjoy _their_ company. I'm sorry if you've got your panties in a bunch because you don't want to see Lizzy, but must you be such a baby about it?"

Charles collapsed onto the couch and turned on the television. He gripped the remote in his hand lazily, not expecting an answer.

"I have not—," Darcy began. He hesitated. "Well… I guess I have been a bit trying about it, haven't I?"

Charles grinned at his friend.

"You have no idea."

William sighed and joined his friend on the couch.

"Sorry about that," he apologized. "It's just that I'm not used to… this." He motioned vaguely with his hand. "Obviously." He grimaced.

"I know," Charles chirped. "But I don't know why you're so averse to seeing Lizzy again. Why are you being so resistant?"

"I just—it would never work," he said dejectedly, looking at the floor. Charles looked at him, genuine surprise etched into his features.

"Why not?" he asked, confused.

William was saved from making an answer by the entrance of Caroline. They were both caught relatively off-guard. Her approach had not been marked by the clicking of heels, as per usual. Her appearance was also remarkable. She was scandalously clad in a faded band t-shirt and a simple pair of blue jeans.

She even wore sneakers.

_Sneakers._

Heavens above.

There wasn't a designer on her, and that left them speechless. Also, she wore no makeup except for a small bit of naturally colored stuff, sparsely applied. And the coup de grâce—her hair was tied up. In a ponytail.

Who was this woman?

"C-Caroline?" her broker broke in, his voice high-pitched and unbelieving. She bristled at the looks the boys were giving her and was about to make a sharp remark when the startled voice of William Darcy reached her ears.

"Caroline—you look—nice!" It was true, and he was surprised by it. Although his shock was evident, sincerity rang true in his tone, and the woman perceived it. It was her turn to be astonished.

"I—thank you," she said. Moments passed and when it was clear that the men fully intended to do nothing but stare at her, she cleared her throat.

"I have to leave now," she announced. She was almost completely out of the room when her brother cried out, "Wait!"

She turned.

"Where are you going?"

"Out," she replied shortly, hiding a secret smile. She vanished from sight before either of them had the chance to ask her to elaborate. In contrast to her exit from the very same room the day before, she left behind the trailing scent of something clean. The wonderful perfume of _clean_. Fresh laundry, _au de soap_.

It was utterly bewildering.

"Was that Caroline _Bingley?_" William asked incredulously. Charles stared back at him.

"I hardly know!"

"I didn't think she owned a pair of jeans."

"I didn't think she owned a pair of sneakers!"

"I didn't think she owned a t-shirt!"

"I've walked into a madhouse!"

"I _own_ a madhouse!"

It took a long moment for the two to finally regain their senses.

"So."

"So."

"Do, ah, these things ever go away?" William asked, motioning to his head. The question had been persistently prodding at his brain since he first looked in the mirror on that fateful day twenty-eight hours ago. Charles looked at him.

"Yeah," he answered. "Once the infatuation wears off. But actually…" He grew thoughtful. "I don't know, Will. It may be insignificant, but your heart's a different color than mine, or even Caroline's was."

"Really?" Interesting. "What colors were yours?"

"Mine was white. And Caro's was yellow, I think. With some red."

"Oh."

"I wonder why that is."

"I do t—_what_ are you _watching?_"

William eyed the television screen with disgust. On the program that was playing, a completely sloshed (_completely fake, too, if you know what I mean_) bleached blonde was chugging beer straight from the keg. People around her chanted drunkenly, and then erupted into applause as she topped off and belched loudly.

All and all, delightfully wholesome entertainment.

"Don't you just love reality shows?" Charles asked with a wry grin. He changed the channel to a show they both enjoyed, one about building and restoring classic cars.

"So… no hard feelings about the Bennet sisters coming over?" Charles asked almost sheepishly. William waved his question away with his hand.

"Whatever."

"_Try_," Charles entreated earnestly. William turned to look at him, but Charles's eyes were trained on the television. "You never know what may happen."

William turned his attention back on the screen.

* * *

Later that evening, Charles happened upon William in the kitchen. The dark-haired Mr. Darcy was doubled over, peering into the large oven where a cake was happily baking, completely oblivious to its baker's anxiety.

"What's that?" Charles asked.

"A cake," William said, standing up and facing Charles. "For tomorrow."

"Awww," Charles cooed, "you made them a cake!"

William rolled his eyes.

"Well, you know." He shrugged. "I have to make things right. It's a token of apology."

"Hey, I have an idea!" Charles declared brightly. "We should get candy hearts! And when you frost it, you can stick 'em on top…"

"Please tell me you're not suggesting what I think you are."

Charles wiggled his eyebrows. William let out a groan.

"Please just stop talking."

"Whatever." Charles looked past Will to the baking workstation. He rose a brow. "Did you go out?"

There seemed to be a good deal of 'cake' supplies, from boxes of mix to frosting tubes. _Someone_ went a bit overboard.

"Hm? Yeah. This is a special cake, Charles. I want it to turn out well."

"Sure." Charles could understand it, somewhat. Will was a perfectionist in everything he did, especially when dealing with important things. And this was most definitely an important thing. Charles knew William hated to admit he was wrong, and even when he knew he was, it took a great deal for him to concede to the fact. The fact that he was going all out and making a cake signified William's repentance and willingness to make amends.

This was not just a cake. Oh, no—it was much more than that.

"I'm sure it's gonna be great," Charles said, sitting down on one of the stools stationed at the island. Then his expression changed as a new thought occurred to him. "Hey—have you seen Caroline anywhere?"

William thought.

"Not since she left this afternoon, no. You think she's still out?"

At this particular moment in time, Caroline Bingley chose to materialize in the doorway.

"What is that _smell?_" she asked. She looked from man to man. They were surprised to see she wore the same clothes as the last time they saw her (she was constantly changing outfits; "fashion changes all the time, why shouldn't I?"). They recovered far more quickly this time around, however.

"Will is making a cake," Charles told her happily.

"A cake?" she asked with surprise. "I didn't know you were a baker."

"Eh… I just follow the instructions on the box, really."

She chuckled tiredly at this.

"You okay, Caro?" Charles asked, eyeing her with concern. "You look exhausted."

She flicked a mildly annoyed glance his way.

"Gee, thanks," she said sarcastically. "It's just been a long day. I'm famished." She sat down at the marble-topped island next to her brother.

"There are some of those watercress tea sandwiches you like in the fridge," Will offered helpfully. She let out an unladylike snort, another first.

"Please. I've worked hard today. I need some real food."

Would she never cease to surprise them?

"Ah… what do you a taste for?"

She shrugged.

"Anything."

William looked at her like a child shown something amazing.

"Even _pizza?_"

"Let's not get crazy, now, Wills."

Ah. So there was a bit of Caroline in there, after all. They were beginning to worry.

"What about Chong's, that nice Chinese food place down at the town square? They deliver."

Caroline eyed him warily. He shook his head.

"Don't worry," he assured her, "it's not the greasy Americanized stuff that most places serve. This is real Chinese food, and quite delicious if I say so myself."

This seemed to satisfy Caroline, who hadn't broken herself of the habit of relying on what Mr. Darcy said, thought, felt, etc. Charles procured a menu from one of the infinite amount of drawers within the kitchen and placed it before Caroline. She scanned it. Her eyes greedily ingested each dish title, as if they alone could give her sustenance. She pointed to a few and Charles grabbed a phone to dial the number on top of the menu.

"So Wills," Caroline asked, now that the job of selecting her meal was done. "Why are you making a cake? Couldn't the cook have done it?"

"It's a, ah, special cake," he said, highly aware that if things proceeded the way he thought they would, he would be treading on dangerous ground.

"Oh?" She cocked a brow.

"Yeah… it's for the, uh, Bennet sisters."

As expected, she bristled. The two men waited with bated breath, anxious of her next action. The dial tone coming from the telephone did nothing to decrease the tension.

"Ah," she finally said. Charles exhaled, relief clear on his face, and proceeded to order.

Ah? _Ah?_ That was all she could come up with? William's mind reeled. All through last week, Caroline had made it abundantly clear that she disliked all Bennets (even if Jane was a sweet girl. Eliza was no longer tolerable). She seized every opportunity to berate and abuse them—and now all she said was "ah?"

_Ah!?_

What was _wrong _with her? First dressing normally, then eating a real meal, and now this? _What was the world coming to!?_

William would have liked to take off his hat in front of her, see what she had to say about _that__!_ At the rate things were going, he would expect her to congratulate him warmly and ask for him to save a dance for her at the wedding.

Whoa. Wait. Wedding?

William's highly active imagination got the better of him, and his mind sped along, flashing stills of a glorious wedding with the lovely Miss Bennet before his eyes.

He felt a quivering between his hat and his head, and heard a faint popping noise.

He was not the only one who heard it. Charles recognized it for what it was and looked at him questioningly. Caroline, however, did not.

"What was that?" she asked.

"What was what?" Charles responded innocently.

"That pop." She looked to Will. "Did you hear it?"

William struggled to appear nonchalant. He shrugged.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

She appeared confused for a moment, but shrugged, evidently letting it go.

"So Caro, where've you been all day?" Charles asked, changing the subject. An unreadable look crossed her features before she smiled slightly.

"I've been taking voice lesions, you know, Charles," she said. "Is there anything to drink, Will?"

Mr. Betty Crocker. He had officially been dubbed the unofficial Food Man. He cursed the apron he wore.

"Ah… yeah," he said. "Water, juice, soda, you name it."

"Water please."

William fixed the woman a cup even as Charles exclaimed, "Really, Caroline?" He had been completely ignorant of this fact up until this point. "That's great! I remember you always loved to sing… although you gave it up these past few years. What got you interested again?"

"I saw a flyer downtown last week when I was shopping. Do you know who's in town?" Her eyes sparkled. "Erik. _The_ Erik! And he's giving voice lessons! Granted, his prices are exorbitant, but what's money compared to the tutelage of _Erik?_"

Darcy looked at her in surprise.

"Erik, as in, the ridiculously wealthy and mysterious composer?" he asked.

"The very one!" she cried. "Who knew he'd be holed up somewhere like _here!_"

"So did you get to see him?" Charles asked eagerly. The ridiculously wealthy and mysterious composer was just that—ridiculously wealthy, but more importantly ridiculously mysterious. There were absolutely no photos of him anywhere, ever. Not even on the _internet_. All of his information was secret, for that matter—his full name, where he lived, his history, even his birthday. Any insight on the man was duly treasured.

Caroline's smile faded.

"Yes," she said simply. There was something decidedly off about her. The pregnant pause which followed told the males that she was not going to elaborate, and that there was much elaboration she was able to do.

"Well?" Charles pressed, a bit hesitantly. Something clicked inside his sister and her eyes grew cold and hard. Familiar territory.

"Well what?" she asked, her voice flinty. Scratch that. This was Anger they were being faced with. They had seen many negative emotions within Miss Caroline Evangeline Bingley, including anger, but never Anger. This was dangerous.

"What… well, what does he look like?" Charles thought his question perfectly innocent, but could see that it wasn't necessarily so.

"What does it matter?" Caroline snapped.

Both men exchanged glances, clearly taken aback at Caroline's sudden hostility. There was underlying confusion, as well—Caroline loved to gossip, and this was gold. Mr. Mysterious Unmasked. Why wasn't she recounting her encounter with malicious _glee?_

Nothing made sense anymore.

The doorbell rang, echoing throughout the house and breaking the tension.

"Food is here," Charles announced, his brow smoothing and his tone thick with relief. Before William could offer to go get it, Charles was out of the room.

William and Caroline endured a tense silence.

"You okay, Caroline?" he asked, the softness in his tone surprising even himself.

"I'm fine." Caroline's voice was hard and steely.

Charles quickly came back, bags of food in his hands.

"So who's hungry?" he asked brightly, appearing to have forgotten his sister's lashing out. Caroline eyed the bags with longing. Just as Charles was setting plates down at the island, the oven let out a candid ding.

"Well what do you know," Will said to himself. "Cake's finished."

He grabbed his oh-so-manly floral oven mitts and a toothpick. Then he opened the oven, the hot air billowing out and almost singing the ends of his hair, and tested the cake for doneness.

"You want some, Will?" Charles asked, referring to the Chinese food. Caroline was already eating gratefully. She looked as if she hadn't had something as fulfilling in years. Will realized sadly that she probably hadn't.

"No, I'm good," he replied. "I gotta work on this cake, anyway."

"Sure, sure." Charles bit into an egg roll.

William took the two cakes out of the oven and set them on the stovetop to cool. It would take a while, he though. In the meantime, he'd mix the frosting.


	3. Day 3

**Day 3**

Stupid cake.

Why did he have to make a _cake?_

These were the thoughts of Mr. William Alexander Darcy on The Third Morning. He was beside himself with doubt. What if they didn't like strawberries? What if the cake got soggy between layers? What if it turned out disgusting? What if he didn't mix the frosting right? What if—oh God—what if either of them were _allergic_ to strawberries!?

What if, what if, what if?

"Are you going to eat your breakfast, or are you just going to admire the presentation?" a voice said, breaking through his worrying.

Oh, right.

He had been staring at his eggs and bacon for about five straight minutes before Charles decided to bring him back to the breakfast room. The fairer-haired man had taken note of his friend's mental absence and pensive air and duly attributed it to the arrival of the two eldest Bennet sisters later on that morning.

"Snap out of it, Will," Bingley said. "The world isn't going to end, you know."

_Says you._ Will sighed and picked up his fork, unenthusiastically toying with his food.

"I know," he said. "It's just—there are so many things that can go wrong—I don't know if—ugh. I'm working myself up over nothing, aren't I?"

"Yup," Charles answered. "Relax. You were fun to be around three days ago; just be yourself."

"Hey!"

"What? It's true. I wouldn't be your friend if I didn't think well of you."

"You know that's not what I was referring to. And besides," he said, forking some eggs into his mouth, "you're friends with everyone."

"That's not the point!"

Caroline, the other resident of Netherfield Manor, graced the room with her presence. She was clad in a beige Armani suit-skirt combo and matching heels. Yesterday with her casual attire might have been a dream, if she hadn't been holding a full plate in her hand. She sat down with them, to their pleasant surprise.

"Good morning, Caroline," Charles greeted her with a smile. William followed suit, although his greeting was not as warm but nonetheless sincere. She returned the greeting and began daintily nibbling on her small portion of scrambled eggs.

"Before you ask," she began even as her brother opened his mouth, "I'm eating all this because Erik says I need to maintain a healthy diet if I ever want to sing halfway decently."

"Yeah?" Charles asked, secretly overjoyed by the news. As it were, he allowed himself his usual grin. Caroline nodded once, a languid bob that bespoke of her hesitant agreement to the scheme.

"Unfortunately for you, you may be seeing a whole lot more of me at mealtimes!" What started out as a joke ended up making Caroline grimace at her poor choice of words.

"That's wonderful!" Charles exclaimed, heedless to any negative connotations of the statement, before resuming his meal. William watched him for a moment before glancing at Caroline.

"Perhaps it's you who are the unfortunate one," he quipped, sliding his gaze back to Charles who was eating rapidly, barely pausing for breath in between bites. She smirked and continued eating. William followed her example. His bacon was cooling off, after all. Who could abide by cold bacon?

After a moment, Caroline flicked a glance Will's way.

"You seem… very attached to that hat," she observed. He glanced down at his plate.

"Yes," he said simply. There was a pause. "I like it."

Smooth, Darcy. Real smooth.

"It appears you do."

The rest of the meal was finished in relative silence. Caroline was the first to get up, as she had the smallest portions, beating out her vacuum of a brother.

"Well, I'm needed at Louisa's—the poor woman is having a devil of a time coordinating her five-year anniversary party, and I have voice lessons at four, so I'll be out practically all day." She smiled. "Don't get into too much trouble while I'm gone."

"We'll try, Caroline," William smirked. Her brother waved after her. When she was gone, Charles turned back to William, a warm glow in his eyes.

"Oh, Will," he said, his voice saturated with happiness, "did you hear that? She's going to start _eating_ again!"

"This Erik is a miracle worker," William responded, taking a last stab at his eggs.

"I'll say!" Charles agreed. "This guy is great! Maybe he can even convince her that trying to get you to marry her is a lost cause!"

William looked at Charles. And then, they both laughed.

* * *

The appointed time was drawing near. William had gone back to worrying, despite Charles's assurances that everything would be fine and his own mind's telling him that worrying would do him no good—in fact, he _knew_ it would probably work against him. That didn't prevent him from doing so, however.

He'd checked on the cake more than once after breakfast, and it had _looked_ the same as it had last night, but who's to say something hadn't gone horribly wrong _inside_ it?

The cake itself was simple, but quite good-looking in his opinion. He was no cake specialist, but he had gone out and gotten food coloring and different types of nozzles and bags for the icing. Through blind luck, he had managed to create a two-layered cake with real strawberries as a filling, coated with a strawberry flavored jam-like substance (this is where the fear of sogginess came into play). He'd iced it with white buttercream icing (which had turned out to be a real pain in the neck to work with, as he was not yet a Master in the Confectionary Arts) and used a special nozzle to line the cake in red.

Technically it still wasn't finished. Once he cut slices, he'd top it with some more stylized icing and a slice of strawberry. He planned to plate it, too, and with that came some more strawberry jam action, this time in the form of frilly fine-dining swirls.

He was also still contemplating Charles's unsaid suggestion from the previous day.

As he was checking on the cake yet again, the doorbell rang. He tensed. It could only be _them._

He left the kitchen and meant to greet the ladies. As he grew nearer to the front door, he unconsciously adjusted his hat. His nerves had kicked in as he approached the hallway leading up to the door and was once again contemplating whether he should really be there when he rounded the corner and sucked in a breath.

Cripes.

There she was.

The two visitors turned to Will and he realized he should probably say something. He nodded towards them, like all the cool kids do.

"Hey," he said oh-so-suavely. Jane smiled serenely at him. Lizzy must've been in a good mood because she smiled as well.

He felt a familiar quivering beneath his hat.

"Hello, William," Jane, ever the picture of graciousness, greeted him warmly.

"Yes, hello," Elizabeth murmured.

"Well!" Charles said, clasping his hands together. "I hope you're hungry because I believe we have a de_li_cious lunch prepared for you."

With the command (but really, Charles was incapable of "commanding"; "suggestion" was more like it) of, "Follow me," the four set off for the rarely used dining room. Lizzy fell into step beside Will, and he was immediately conscious of both her and himself.

"So you like the Yankees?" she asked conversationally.

What? Where'd she pull that from? He became aware of the bill of the baseball cap within his line of sight. Oh, right.

"Actually, I'm not that big of a baseball fan," he admitted. There was a pause. He then remembered that a conversation involved two people exchanging words. (_It is your turn to say something now, Mr. Darcy,_ whispered someone from somewhere within his subconscious. _I talked about the dance, and you ought to make some kind of remark on the size of the room, or the number of couples._ Where had he heard that before?)

"You like baseball?" he asked. She seemed surprised he was talking to her. Inwardly, he winced. So the whole 'ignoring her' deal last week didn't exactly work in his favor.

"My dad's a big fan," she answered nonetheless. "I myself prefer tennis over other sports. It's the only one I can really ever watch without wanting to leave the room."

It was William's turn to be surprised.

"Really?" he said. "Me, too! I always—"

"Here it is!"

Charles had destroyed their conversation before it even started. William sighed inwardly. He fully intended to _try_, as Charles put it, but how could he when there were so many distractions?

The dining room was large and spacious, bedecked and beautiful, and entirely too formal for the meal he had planned. French doors connected it to a porch with a postcard perfect view of the grounds.

The table was already set for four. Charles had found out the sisters' favorite meals beforehand and had asked the cook to incorporate them into this meal. The quartet sat and the meal began, admittedly a bit stiffly and uncomfortably. At least it seemed that way in Will's mind.

Elizabeth eyed the French doors longingly.

"Charles," she began, "would you mind much if we had lunch _outside?_ It's such a beautiful day, after all…"

"Not at all!" Charles said. "As a matter of fact, that's an excellent idea. Nobody uses this stuffy old room anyhow." Thus the group took their plates outside and sat down on the patio chairs.

Lizzy had been right; it was a beautiful day. The temperature was in the high sixties and it was mid-November. The weather was supposed to be cooling with the rapid approach of winter, but the autunmal season had been and continued to be a surprisingly mild one. The sun was out and shining brightly, throwing the fields, and further out, the woodlands into sharp contrast. To complete the image, puffs of picturesque clouds littered the sky.

It was charming, to say the least.

"This is wonderful," Jane complimented before taking another bite of her dish. Elizabeth nodded, silently agreeing with her sister. Charles grinned at them.

"Well if you like this," he said, "you're going to love what Will has in store for you."

William raised his eyes to Charles in alarm. Why did he have to preface it like _that_? He felt three pairs of eyes on him and realized they expected a bit of explanation. He could feel his cheeks heating up. Just a tiny bit.

"I, ah… made you both a cake."

Jane seemed pleased and Lizzy surprised.

"How nice of you, Will!" Jane said with pleasure. "You shouldn't have!"

Lizzy merely raised her brows.

"I never pegged you as the cake-making type," she said.

"Yeah, well, I'm, uh, not. Usually. But, uh…"

He was awkward. He was _painfully_ awkward. Why was he so awkward? She must be laughing her head off on the inside. She must be laughing _so_ hard at him.

Calm down, he told himself. Relax, be yourself, etc., etc.

He found amusement in her, eyes, but not the malicious laughter he feared. As if she would laugh maliciously at him, he thought, reason taking over once the fight-or-flight urge was gone. She was not that kind of person.

Another quiver atop his noggin.

"Well," Elizabeth said, "as I am convinced that Mr. Darcy is without defect, his cake must therefore be delicious, and I anticipate it with pleasure."

Jane rolled her eyes at her sister's antics, while William was still trying to decide whether to be amused or annoyed.

"Liz_zy_," Jane reprimanded gently.

"What?" Lizzy turned back to her sister, her expression one of complete innocence. "I'm being perfectly serious." She turned back to Darcy. "I'll have you know, Mr. Darcy, that I am very fond of cakes, and consider myself an expert on the subject of tasting them."

Will cracked a smile.

"Is that so?" He schooled his features into a mask of earnestness. "Then I hope my humble creation will live up to some of the no doubt fabulous cakes you have tasted."

"Alas, we shall see!"

Alas, we shall. William worried privately throughout the rest of the meal.

* * *

"I'm quite anxious to try this cake of yours, Will," Charles said lightly as they entered the party entered the kitchen. "With all the fuss you've made about it, I'd expect it to be a masterpiece!"

William resisted the urge to scowl at Charles and merely opened the refrigerator to get the cake.

"Has this caused you trouble?" Jane asked in surprise and with a bit of guilt.

"It's ah—fine. The cake itself didn't give me much trouble," William answered, "it's just that I was worried it wouldn't turn out well."

He turned, revealing the cake in all its splendor (which, in reality, was not that much, but it was more than the average cake had, and that's all that mattered). A soft, "Oh!" came from Jane while Lizzy blinked.

William didn't know it, but at that moment he quite looked like a cake-bearing angel. The white glow of the open refrigerator haloed him in an ethereal light. With the added knowledge that the cake was purposefully hand-crafted for the Bennet sisters' enjoyment alone, Lizzy found herself quite disconcerted.

She resisted the urge to shake her head.

Tsk, _tsk, _Lizzy. _Already_ getting high off those cake fumes?

"Well," Lizzy said, finding her voice, "it sure _looks_ like it turned out well."

William set the cake down on the island and briefly met her gaze.

"Looks can be deceiving."

He then acquired a (pre-selected, but he would never tell anyone that) suitably impressive knife and made several utilitarian cuts, producing handsomely symmetrical slices.

"Oh, I almost feel bad that it has to be cut," Jane said. "It's so pretty!"

William smiled at her before looking at the other male in the party.

"Charles? Plates?"

"Oh yes, of course—!" Charles procured a stack of small white plates, also pre-selected and conspicuously placed at the very front of the plate cabinet (in case he forgot which ones would go _perfectly_ with the treat; he was actually grateful he did so, because this situation presented itself). William plated four slices as the other three watched him silently. He went back to the fridge and pulled out two bags made for spreading icing and one little Ziploc bag containing dainty slices of strawberry.

He smiled sheepishly at them.

"Not quite finished," he said.

He started with the plate decoration, adding a few strawberry flavored swirls here and there around the cake. He then planted dollops of red icing atop each slice, providing the foundation for the strawberry garnish. Finally, he added the piece de resistance—a neat slice of strawberry precariously tilted at a 135° angle.

He thought he wouldn't encounter any problems with the strawberries (at least he hoped so)—he hadn't seen any of them react negatively when he first brought out the baggie containing the fruit.

He them placed the plates before the victims, along with sleek silver forks.

"_Bon appétit_," he said with a flourishing bow, his bravado effectively smothering any anxiety that might have otherwise made itself known. He took his own plate and quickly took a bite of cake. His whole body flooded with relief.

The cake had felt his anxiety and heeded his silent pleas. The naturally absorbent cake layers had resisted the urge to suck up the strawberry jam and remained blessedly unsoggy. Nothing was wrong with the actual cake itself, and he hadn't even worried about the icing—after all, all he did was mix food coloring into it.

With the test piece passing quality control with a good sound 'Satisfactory,' Will allowed himself to relax and watch the others. It was quite fascinating, he thought, idly taking another bite of his own slice of cake. Elizabeth first approached the strawberry decoration. She scooped it up with her fork, red base and all, and stuck it into her mouth before tackling the actual cake. Jane began by popping the strawberry on top in her mouth and then tipping the slice over for easier access to the filling which she ate with decorum. Charles was all frosting first.

And himself? He ate systematically, starting from the inside tip of the triangle and working outward.

"So why did you make this cake for _us?_" Lizzy finally asked. "Forgive me, but I was under the impression you didn't like us very much!" Her tone was teasing, but the underlying truth in the statement struck Will. She really _thought_ that?

He'd really have his work cut out for him, then.

He decided to reply lightly.

"Not _like_ you! How could you suggest such a thing? You wound me, madam, truly you do." He hoped she would understand that although his manner was joking, he truly meant what he said.

Her face bespoke surprise, but not of the negative sort.

"And actually… I made it as an apology," he admitted, "for my abominable behavior since the start of our acquaintance."

Now Elizabeth was all astonishment. Jane looked from Will to Lizzy, and then shared a conspiratorial glance with Charles.

"But you've been nothing but a gentleman since we met!" Jane protested, knowing full well what he was referring to, and that this apology was not for _them_ as sisters, but for Lizzy herself. William merely smiled at Jane.

Lizzy took another bite.

"Are all your apologies this delicious?" she asked, her eyes twinkling.

Quiver, quiver.

"I'm afraid not," he answered with a wry smile.

"They're not all this pretty, either," Charles quipped, deciding that he had remained quiet for long enough.

"Would anyone like another slice?" Will offered, noting everyone's empty plates. Each person accepted, but he himself did not take another, intending to save the final piece for later. Charles eyed it.

"So, you gonna eat that?" he asked, his motives for doing so blatantly obvious.

"You hog," William grinned. "I'm saving it for Caroline."

"Caroline? _Cake_?" Elizabeth raised her brows. "Since when?"

"Well, she hasn't actually _had_ any cake lately," Will admitted, "but she's eating real meals now! Who's to say she won't want some?"

Charles nodded.

"She didn't seem all that averse to it last night," Charles conceded. "Alright, then."

Next on the agenda was scheduled amusement for the fair maidens in the form of competitive recreation held in the game room.

Now that the whole nerve-wracking cake business was over and done with, Will didn't know how to feel. Some of the games there were only multiplayer, and William was quite good at all of them (not to toot his own horn, of course, but facts were facts). Charles was good for the occasional competition, but the novelty of facing him had worn off long ago.

He hoped either o the Bennet girls would be willing to face him at something, anything. But, he wondered, how would their game be? Did they play like girls, as the saying went? Or could they really present a refreshing challenge?

He would have to wait and see.

The others finished eating. Then, they set off for the magical land within the manor that was the game room.

* * *

**A/N—I had to split this chapter in two, or else it would be too long. Unfortunately, the second part of it does absolutely nothing to further the plot. And I'm sort of pushing Caroline to the side for now, but she'll play a bigger role in later chapters (and that's when her claws will come out lol). R&R C:**


	4. Day 3, continued

**A/N—This chapter irks me. Probably because by the end, writing it was like trying to pull teeth. I'd hit the end of my 'inspired' period, you see. Anyway, as stated before, no plot furtherance, but some personality quirks are revealed here.**

* * *

**Day 3 continued**

Upon entering the game room, William wondered exactly what to begin with. As if drawn by some strange sort of eye-magnet, his (surprisingly) eyes alighted on a green table to the far side of the room, divided by a small net. He tossed a glance Lizzy's way.

"You said you liked tennis," he began, effectively demonstrating that he had, in fact, been paying attention to their conversation in the halls earlier, "but what about its little cousin?" He nodded his head toward the ping pong table and Lizzy followed his gaze.

"I'm not averse to it at all," she said, a bit surprised by the knowledge that he actually had been listening to her and had remembered, but not enough to let it show on her face. She had thought he was just being polite. She smiled at him. "Do I detect a challenge in that, Mr. Darcy?"

He returned the smile.

"I'll leave it for you to decide."

"How gracious! Well, then, I say to you: bring out the paddles!"

Charles looked at Jane.

"Foosball?" he suggested with a shrug.

"Sure, why not?" Jane replied with a smile like sunshine. They contently attended to their friendly game while Lizzy and William started something a little less friendly and a little more competitive.

"Whose serve?" Lizzy asked as Will bounced the ball on the table. The competitive juices were flowing within Will's veins, each tap of the ping pong ball accentuating his heightened pulse.

"Ladies first," he smirked, bouncing it over to Elizabeth. She caught it and smirked right back at him.

"Go ahead, then," she countered, bouncing it back over to William. His eyes crinkled in a devilish (dashing) grin.

"You are _so_ going down," he threatened playfully.

"That's what _you_ think!"

Not far away, Charles and Jane listened in discreetly.

"Oh, no," they groaned quietly at the same time. They looked at each other and laughed.

"What, what is it?" Charles asked.

Jane smiled merrily (becomingly) at him.

"Oh, it's just that Lizzy gets so competitive when it comes to things like this," she explained.

"Will, too!" Charles laughed. "I'm afraid that for however long we're down here, all we'll hear is trash talk and gloating."

"I'm afraid so!"

Heedless to the other two's side conversation, William and Elizabeth began their game. Will smirked and toyed with the ball.

"I'll go easy on you," he said, and gently served the ball.

"Please!" Lizzy snorted, leveling a power shot out of the right corner, both astonishing Will and alarming Charles and Jane, who seemed to be directly in the ball's projected path of destruction. "It's not like I'm going to go easy on _you._"

"So that's how it is, eh?" William asked as he jogged to retrieve the ball. "I see! No more free rides for you!"

"Trust me, _you're _going to be the one wishing for free rides!"

"Oh really!"

"Yeah, really!"

"No way!"

"Yes way!"

One would expect one of them to stick their tongue out at the other. In fact, Lizzy did. Will laughed. Jane sighed and Charles tut-tutted them, wholly amused by their uninhibited immaturity.

Will served again. The two worked up a good rally before Lizzy struck another power shot down the left side. It was a blur as it bounced within bounds and then off the table. Lizzy pumped a fist.

"Oh yeah!"

Reacting without thinking, William lunged desperately toward the ball and managed to tap it, his arm outstretched. They both watched as it arced beautifully up towards the ceiling and then fell towards the table. Lizzy made no move to hit it, figuring it would land on the floor.

It did not.

Both watched in disbelief as it bounced neatly on the table, on Lizzy's side of the net, and then off, where it met the cool grey floor and bounced right on past Elizabeth. They stared at it.

Darcy was the first to break through his surprise with a startled laugh.

"Hah! _What_ was that you were saying?"

"Oh, shut up, will you?" Lizzy said, even though she smiled. "How did you _do_ that?"

"A master never reveals his secrets!" William taunted, wagging a finger at her.

"Lies!" she cried. "That was pure luck!"

William knew this, but it wasn't like he was going to actually _say _anything, come _on_. Lizzy retrieved the ball and twirled it in her hand before tossing it back to her opponent.

"One-all," he said before serving again. They rallied for a good while.

"You're pretty good at this."

A smirk.

"You're not so bad yourself."

Will drove a neat shot down the right side of the table, scoring another point with a smug smile. Lizzy huffed and recovered the ball. She wasted no time as she served and plowed another strong shot out of the corner.

She quite seemed to like those, that Elizabeth. Will quietly noted the differences in their playing styles. He was more into finesse and fancy wristwork while Lizzy preferred to overpower her opponent.

Interesting.

"My, my," Will said, "there's some fire behind that arm. Are we a bit angry this afternoon, Elizabeth?" He retrieved the ball and tossed it casually back to her.

"Not at all," she replied smoothly, bouncing the ball a few times on the table. "Impatient, maybe. Angry? No."

She served normally and the two worked up another handsome rally.

"Impatient? For what, pray tell?"

He absently noted that the clicking of the ball when it hit the table closely resembled the beat to one of his favorite songs. It was oddly soothing.

"Why, for you to lose, of course!" It was then that she decided she was done playing around and stepped up her game. She tried for another hard drive across the table, breaking the pleasing rhythm they had attained, but Will had smartened up by then, and watched her as well as the ball. He was therefore ready for this attack, and quickly extended his paddle to catch the ball and bounced it up in another quadratic arc. Lizzy fumbled, but caught the shot awkwardly in the air and returned it.

"Good job!" Will commended facetiously.

"I could say the same for you!"

William approached the ball as if to strike it diagonally across the table, but subtly altered the angle of his paddle at the last moment to guide it down the opposite corner. He scored a point. Lizzy quietly retrieved the ball.

"Three-two."

As the game progressed, the two's taunting grew steadily more absent as they slipped into focused personas with no time for idle banter. Charles and Jane looked at each other, surprised by the silence.

"She only—"

"—does that when things get serious?" Charles smiled wryly. "It seems that William and Elizabeth have more in common than any of us allowed for."

She watched them for a moment, mulling something over. Then, she looked at Charles.

"Call me later?" she asked, taking him by surprise. He stammered.

"Ah—S-sure! Any, ah, particular reason why?" He hesitated. "I mean, it's not like I don't enjoy talking to you, I do! Believe me, I do; it's just that that was rather sudden, and—well—erm—yeah!"

His color heightened. Jane smiled affectionately at him, causing a smile to come to his own face and his blush to deepen.

"And I like talking to you," she replied. "But you're right, there's a reason—something—forgive me for being so presumptuous, not knowing William quite as well as you do—something is going on between those two." She dropped her voice so that the earnestly playing couple could not hear. "I just want to… compare observations."

Charles grew thoughtful and serious. Jane had never before seen this side of him, but it was not an unwelcome sight. Indeed, she found it quite captivating, although she would probably not admit it because she was rather shy and apt to hide her innermost feelings.

"I suppose.…" he said finally, if a little hesitantly. "Of… of what nature do you think this 'something' is?"

She pursed her lips.

"It's a bit hard to tell on either side," she admitted. "But… Lizzy is my closest friend, and I'm rather fond of William as well. I don't want to see anything…" she tried to find an appropriate word, "_injurious _happen either of them."

Charles, normally not the most perceptive of creatures, sensed that Jane suspected a good deal of the truth. He would learn what she thought and observed, and discern how much she should be told from there.

He nodded. Then, they turned to watch the rather serious game of table tennis going on between two rather confusing individuals on the (rather) far side of the game room. Their game of foosball was forgotten.

* * *

"That was… intense, to say the least."

William nodded in agreement as he retrieved the small white ball for what he hoped was the final time that day.

"It was a good game," he said, strategically placing it on the table between the two paddles so it would not roll away. He would put the equipment away later. Now he stepped forward, hand extended to shake, as all good sportsmen do.

Lizzy took his hand with no small bit of triumph and shook it firmly. (He was taken by surprise—her hands were so soft and yet her grip so firm—it was a bit disconcerting.)

She had won by a scant two points. The game had seemed to last forever, and when the final winning shot was made, everyone in the room cried out—Lizzy in exultation, William in defeat, and Jane and Charles in mutual sympathy for the loser.

There was no denying it.

She was good.

It was the best game of ping pong he had ever played, anyway.

Elizabeth then espied two plastic guitars tucked behind the large television on the other side of the room. She made her way over and took one out to examine it.

"You have this game?" she asked, looking at Charles. He smiled.

"Yeah," he answered, "although Will's a lot better at it than me, I freely admit."

Jane quirked a brow at him. He smirked back.

"Oh, really?" She added under her breath, "Why does that not surprise me?" Then, she sent a challenging glance William's way. "Is that so? Well, well, well! As it were, I'm quite skilled at this game myself. So I have a question for you, _Mr. Darcy_—would you like to continue licking your wounds, or would you rather accept a challenge?"

He rolled his eyes as he walked over to retrieve the other game controller.

"You _can _call me Will, you know," he said, taking it from behind the television. He grabbed a disc from a pile of seemingly infinite video games and inserted it into the console.

She grinned cheekily at him.

Quiver.

"I take it you accept my challenge, then?"

He shrugged.

"I'll have you know," he said, securing the guitar's strap, "that this time, you're going to run home crying to your mother."

"Right!"

He quickly set up a match on one of the moderate songs. He chose the hardest difficulty without so much as a second glance toward Elizabeth. Lizzy was delighted.

"I love this song!" she exclaimed.

"Well," William said with an exaggerated sniff, "I hope that you can play it, because this is _my_ favorite song in the game and so I play it all the time. I can _kill_ it."

There was a pause. Then, Lizzy found herself overcome with laughter at such a ridiculous remark from such an _un_ridiculous person.

"Oh God! Do it again!"

William cocked a brow at her antics.

"Do what, exactly?" he asked, clearly not understanding what she found so funny.

"Say it, say that again!" she entreated. "C'mon!"

"What, say what?"

"The killing thing!" Her eyes sparkled with unrestrained mirth. "Say it just like you did before."

He looked at her.

"_Pleeeeeeeeease?"_

She looked so adorable, and was asking nicely to boot—who was he to deny her any sort of satisfaction? He rolled his eyes for the umpteenth time that day.

"I can _kill_ it," he gratified. She dissolved into infectious laughter yet again. He found himself grinning—how could he not?

A tone from the game signaled that their song had finished loading and was about to start. Lizzy still grinned widely, but took her place on the black leather couch comfortably situated at an ideal distance from the television screen. He spared a final glance at her.

"You can play this _sitting down_?" he asked in surprise.

She clicked her tongue, as if to say _You poor, ignorant little man._

"Of course I can," she answered even as the first notes began to fly across the screen. Her fingers moved with quick and deadly precision. "In fact, it's my preferred method of play. You can't?"

It was a moment before he spoke.

"No," he said shortly. Upbeat alternative poured generously from the speakers, drowning out any attempts at conversation.

Lizzy was persistent, however.

"You have the power-up, you know," she mentioned, not once losing herself in the slew of notes. Once again, it took a moment for William to reply.

"I know…" he said, "…but…I'm… I'm, uh, waiting."

"Why are you talking like that?"

The chorus came in. Lizzy missed a few notes during this massive attack, but quickly got back on her feet. William continued his perfect streak until the next verse began, where he missed three notes.

"Can't talk… while… playing," he answered. She smirked.

"What, can't walk and chew gum at the same time? And here I thought you were _accomplished!"_

He growled as he missed two more notes. _Don't distract me!_ he shouted within the confines of his mind. _You're going to make me lose!_

Elizabeth Bennet did not heed his mental command and continued to speak freely. He simply decided to ignore her until the song was over. Surely she would understand.

And it wasn't as if she would say anything important, right?

Although Lizzy refused to comply with his wishes, William was successful in his own undertaking, and therefore did not lose. Admittedly, he had only won by a few thousand points—practically a hairsbreadth—but it was a victory nonetheless.

Mr. Darcy was smug, indeed.

"They're quite entertaining to watch," Charles declared to Jane as Will and Lizzy started up another song. Jane bit back a laugh.

"Yes, _entertaining_ is one way to describe it!"

* * *

"See? That wasn't so bad, was it?"

The two men waved as the ladies' car pulled out of the driveway and drove off.

The afternoon had proceeded in a manner similar to how it started. After a few hours of recreation, Jane and Elizabeth declared that they simply _must_ leave if they were to arrive home in time for dinner. Charles, being Charles, invited them to stay for said meal, but the girls insisted that it would be too much of an imposition on their part, and besides, Jane really needed to write a bit for work; she was a freelance writer and the deadlines for her latest articles were looming large. Charles could do nothing but commend her on her dedication to her craft, and so both he and William bid the sisters good evening.

Will gave a noncommittal noise as they walked into the building.

"You can't say you didn't have fun."

Mr. Darcy shrugged. It was true, he admitted to himself. During the afternoon he had mostly played against Elizabeth in a variety of games, only occasionally switching opponents. The four had also participated in a few group games—typically boys vs. girls. The games were fun, the company was fun, everything was fun, fun, fun, fun, fun. He couldn't complain.

Fun is fun, after all. A release of dopamine in the brain, resulting in, keyword, pleasure.

Suffice to say that it was a pleasurable afternoon.

Charles looked at the clock.

"Our dinner isn't for another hour or so," he said. "I got that new movie with that one famous guy in it—you know, the one that does that thing with the… thing…"

"Charles," William drawled, "your powers of description are absolutely mind-boggling."

"Shut up!" Charles laughed. "You know who I'm talking about!"

The sad thing about it was that William actually did.

"Sure," he agreed.

The rest of the evening passed pleasantly enough, excluding the single event of Caroline's return to the manor. She had been kept later than she expected, she explained upon asking, and she would like it very much if no one so much as looked in her general direction for the rest of the evening, thank you very much. Even the highly esteemed Mr. Darcy received a curt and unusually brief acknowledgement.

Needless to say, Caroline Bingley on November 16 at 5:37 p.m. was not a happy camper.

The rest of the evening, though, was wholly unremarkable.


	5. Day 4

**

* * *

**

A/N—Once again, thank you for the reviews. They keep me writing. :D Here's a bit more insight on the heart, as well as the appearance of someone you know we ALL want to see… if only for the satisfaction of throttling him. ;D

* * *

**Day 4**

William Darcy looked at himself in the mirror. Technically, though, that statement is only partially true—he did not look at himself, per se, but at the heart floating above his head. It was now roughly the size of one of those small, collectable toy cars. Continuing to hide it beneath a baseball cap would prove to be difficult if it kept growing at the rate it was going.

How big did they grow, anyway? He knew next to nothing about the things, aside from what he had been briefly taught during the fifth grade, and he had long forgotten _that._ Of course, he could always ask the internet—but the internet was full of lies. And misinformation. Especially with so delicate a subject? He couldn't trust it as far as he could throw it, which pretty much meant he couldn't trust it at all, seeing as how one can't physically _throw_ the internet.

He pondered as he stared at it, his brow unconsciously furrowing, making him look like a great philosopher deep in thought.

The hearts were obviously tied to emotions. Therefore, it would not be wrong to assume that a psychiatrist would be knowledgeable on the subject. He encountered a problem: there were no psychiatrists around, not _here_.

He decided that, instead, he would ask a doctor. Close enough, right?

* * *

He decided to walk.

The local clinic was not that far from Netherfield, after all, and the fresh air would do him good, especially after being cooped up in the house for nearly a fortnight. He set off at a leisurely pace—it was only about eight o'clock, and walk-ins were admitted until ten.

After about five minutes, he felt his right pocket vibrate. He carelessly extracted the cause of the vibration—his cell phone—from said pocket and flipped it open without so much as looking at the caller ID.

"Hello?"

A moment passed before a voice on the other side of the line spoke.

"Hello, I'm looking for Mr. William Darcy?"

William rolled his eyes. He knew that voice.

"This is he," he answered.

"Mr. Darcy, my name is Richard Fitzwilliam and I'm calling from the Boring World of Business. We have a very special offer for you today, and if you wouldn't mind, this will only take a few minutes—"

"I'm not interested," he said with a wry grin.

"But sir, we're offering our Premium Money-Savers Package! Order now and you'll receive not one, but two orders of Useless Items for three easy payments of 19.95!"

"So we've gone from telemarketing to an As Seen On TV ad?"

William was met with a laugh.

"I wouldn't know," Richard replied. "I never pick up for them, and if I do, I don't stay on long past the greeting."

"I wouldn't know either. You may be perfectly right in your impression."

Richard laughed.

"How are you, Will?"

"Fine. I'm walking to the doctor's office."

"Eh? If you're fine, why are you walking to the doctor's? Don't tell me you got sick on your _vacation!_"

"No, I'm not sick."

"No? Did someone else get sick?"

"Yes, but that was two weeks ago. She's feeling much better now."

There was a pause.

"You're confusing me now, Will."

William grinned.

"I'm sorry you can't keep up with my brilliant mind."

"Yeah, well, my mind isn't wired to receive telekinetic messages. Or to communicate with other species, either, for that matter."

"What are you trying to say?"

"Shouldn't you know, O Intelligent One?"

William chuckled.

"How are things going at the firm?" he asked his cousin. He was answered with a sound that was half sigh, half groan.

"Are you kidding me, Will?" The cell phone's tiny speaker did nothing to filter out the exasperation evident Richard's voice. "You are supposed to be on _vacation._ You're not even supposed to be _thinking_ about the firm!"

"I apologize."

"No, you don't."

"I said I apologize, I didn't say I was sorry."

"Touché."

"Well?"

"For your information, we are doing _fine_ without you directing everything we do, and doing whatever else CEOs do all day. You know, besides sitting in a posh, top-floor apartment-like office and having your secretary fill out all your paperwork. You can stop crying, now."

"Hey!" William protested with a laugh. "I read and sign nearly all those papers myself, you know!"

"Oh, I know. Believe me, I know. How many times have you refused to go out and have drinks with me and the guys because you 'had to fill out paperwork'?"

"And yet you claim that's just an excuse."

"It is, but that doesn't mean it's an empty one. Face it, Darcy—you are an antisocial workaholic."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are."

"I am not!"

"You prefer the society of paperwork to that of your fellow human beings!"

"I thought we established earlier in this conversation that I am not a human being."

There was another pause.

"How do you always do that?" Richard asked after a moment.

"Do what?"

"Best me."

"A master never reveals his secrets."

William was suddenly struck with the oddest sense of déjà vu.

"But honestly, Will," Richard continued, "when was the last time you had fun?"

"Yesterday!" he answered defensively.

"Oh really?" The flatness in Richard's voice bespoke his skepticism. "What did you do?"

"If you must know, I played some games."

"Games."

"Yes."

"With who?"

"Elizabeth Bennet." William could almost hear one of his cousin's eyebrows quirking. William paused, realizing that he had forgotten two other names, and was horrified when he came across the possibility that Richard, ever the playboy, could have severely misconstrued that statement. He blushed hotly and managed to add, in a surprisingly steady voice, "And Charles, and Charles's new lady-friend, Jane."

"Hmmm," was Richard's response.

William did not like the sound of that 'Hmmm.' It implied too many things. He grew wary.

"E-li-za-beth Ben-net," Richard repeated, testing out each syllable of her name. Without ceremony, he then asked, "So, when are you gonna ask her out?"

William balked.

"_What!?_" he shouted, causing more than a few passers-by to look his way. He reddened again. "What—what—what makes you say _that?"_

Richard laughed heartily on the other side of the line.

"Your reaction is priceless! Admittedly, it was a bit of a shot in the dark, but I did suspect _something_ when you didn't immediately start listing her flaws. You forget, Will, we grew up together. I know you. She really must be something to have caught your interest!"

William stammered protest after protest, but somehow Richard managed to extract some details about Miss Bennet, and in due course was even so successful as to get William to relate the whole of their acquaintance. Eventually, the words were flowing so freely that, to Richard's delight, William even unwittingly related a few sentiments that he had meant to keep secret.

Thus, Mr. Darcy was charmingly engaged until he reached the clinic.

* * *

"Rich, I'm here; I have to let you go."

"Oh. Alright."

Just as Darcy was about to end the call, he heard Richard cry out, "Wait!"

"What?"

"You still haven't told me why you're going to the doctor's."

"Oh." William shrugged, completely disregarding the fact that his cousin could not see the gesture over the phone. "I have a few questions I'd like to ask experienced medical personnel."

"And you couldn't have just used Wikipedia?"

"I really have to go."

William could almost see Richard throwing his hands up in frustrated defeat.

"Fine! Fine. Talk to you later, then."

"Alright."

"Bye."

"Bye."

Will slipped the cell phone back into his pocket as he entered the clinic. He purposefully made his way to the window and proceeded to arrange his affairs. Then, he quietly sat down in the nearly unoccupied waiting room.

He looked around. Everything was blue. The carpet, the seat cushions, the walls, even most of the magazines and pamphlets neatly displayed on a little table in the corner. There was also an aquarium along the far wall.

He noted these things with distant amusement. He had once read, in two separate accounts, that the color blue had a calming effect on people, and that doctors and dentists typically put aquariums in waiting rooms because watching the fish help people relax. With so much of both, he mused silently, one would expect patients to be practically sedated for their appointments.

As he studied a sign printed on an 8 ½" by 11" sheet of white paper taped on the wall that said "NO FOOD, NO DRINK, NO CELL PHONES," and had appropriate images of each, a woman in her late thirties walked into the room with a child in tow. His attention turned to the child as she sat in a seat not far from his own and pulled out a music player while her mother set up an appointment. Darcy watched her for a moment.

She couldn't have been older than thirteen, and although she had the tell-tale flushed, glassy-eyed look of a sick child, she wore an unabashedly large grin. One would think a kid would try to play it up, William thought, to get out of school for a few extra days. Here she was humming like she hadn't a care in the world.

The tune she hummed caught his ear. He knew it, he was sure. Where had he heard it before…?

Obligingly, the girl began to sing softly after a few moments. Her mother sat down next to her and the girl smiled at the woman before resuming her performance.

"_Give 'em the old razzle dazzle,_" she sang, "_razzle dazzle 'em…_"

Ah, yes. It was probably from one of those musicals his sister Georgie made him watch a few days before he left. He couldn't remember which one the song came from. He remembered the tune well enough, though, and his mind filled in all the instruments that supported the melody.

"_Give 'em an act with lots of _flash_ in it, and the reaction will be _pass_ionate—_" She stopped abruptly, noticing his curious gaze, and dropped her eyes, blushing. She may have been discouraged from singing, but she decided that humming was a perfectly acceptable way to pass her time.

The song continued on in his head. It only played momentarily, however, as his name was called and his attention was diverted.

"Down the hall, the first door on your left," the woman at the desk said, pointing the way. "Dr. Cooper will be in to see you shortly." William thanked her and walked over to the designated room.

Before he even had a chance to acquaint himself with his new surroundings, a man in his late fifties poked his head into the room and knocked on the already open door. William turned around and the doctor smiled politely before stepping in and closing the door.

Wow. When people in this town said _shortly_ , they meant _shortly._

"Mr. Darcy?" the doctor inquired, adjusting his glasses. William nodded his head in acknowledgement. "I'm Dr. Cooper. What brings you here today?"

William frowned and took off his hat. Immediately, the doctor's weathered face broke into a heartfelt smile that was only slightly tinged with amusement.

"I have some… questions about this, sir," he answered, at first a bit ashamedly. His tone strengthened near the end of his declaration, however, following his spur-of-the-moment resolve to conduct things in a professional and businesslike manner. At least he would have some semblance of dignity throughout this… discussion.

"Alright then," Dr. Cooper said. "Go right on ahead."

William briefly contemplated where to start. After a short moment, he began.

"Is there a name for this?"

'Floating Candy Hearts' just didn't seem scientific enough, oddly.

"Sure, sure," the doctor responded, "although many people don't really _call_ it anything—indelicacy and all that."

William nodded. Figured.

"But for the sake of record-keeping, we call it _Gymnopathia_ _cordis_. It's from both Greek and Latin, meaning 'exposed emotion' and 'heart'."

Huh. Fitting.

"Next?"

"How long do they usually last?"

"Oh, depends on the person." Dr. Cooper looked at him above the frame of his spectacles. "It can last days, weeks, months, years, entire lifetimes, even. As long as the feeling's there, the heart'll be there, too."

"So, is there any way to hide it or repress it or something?"

"Unfortunately, son, the only way to 'hide' it is to fall out of love with the girl."

The word _love _jarred William. Sure, he had known that the hearts were indicative of first love, but the word '_love' _was so bandied around nowadays. He'd always minded it as an infatuation, something easily overcome, but to hear it linked to the word _'love'_ coming from a _doctor _made him just a little bit jittery.

"Love, sir?" he asked. "Is it not just _infatuation_?"

"Let me tell you something, Mr. Darcy," the doctor began frankly, although not wholly impolitely. "Emotions are complicated. That's why us men can't for the life of us figure out women, because they're governed by emotion, but that's not the point here. The point is that no one can really separate 'infatuation' from 'affection' from 'love' or whatever else label you want to give it."

"I, ah… I understand," William said, quite looking as though he'd swallowed some huge, foul-tasting pill. When his expression cleared, he continued. "How large can they get, typically?"

"Relatively, not much larger than your palm. The numerical range is anywhere from three to six inches, and can grow up to two inches thick. Just a bit bigger than can be comfortably hidden beneath a baseball cap."

Dr. Cooper threw a pointed look at Darcy, who felt his cheeks heat up a bit.

"And color?" Will pressed on. "Does color have any significance?"

"Typically, color determines the nature of the—" he paused for emphasis, giving him a meaningful look, "—_infatuation. _I can't remember exactly what each color means at the moment, since it's technically not medically relevant, but I'm sure I can find you an informative brochure or something, if you'd like."

William inclined his head.

"Thank you, I would like that."

The amusement returned to the doctor's eyes.

"Granted, they are mostly geared to the, er… _younger_ generation, but the information in them is useful nonetheless."

Darcy nearly winced. He felt a bit foolish, a grown man standing in a doctor's office asking questions about a normally adolescent experience. Up until then, he had never felt _strange_ about it being his first time, but now he felt it acutely, as if he were an outsider or some sort of freak.

He inadvertently likened it to being the new kid at school. Foreign. Alien. Something to stare at and whisper about.

A human anomaly.

His brow creased slightly. Perhaps he was regressing. Such emotions seemed adolescent enough, as though he should have left the likes of them behind during those awkward years.

He flicked his gaze from the doctor to the crown molding and back. It was as close to shaking his head free of his musings as he would get when in the presence of that man.

He shrugged lightly.

"Is there anything else you would like to know?" the doctor asked. William thought.

"Why are they edible?"

Dr. Cooper laughed.

"That I cannot answer," he replied. "It's a question that has baffled doctors and scientists alike for hundreds of years. And I can't say exactly how they come about, either," he continued, even as William opened his mouth to ask the question. "How is one to explain the spontaneous appearance of a candied heart above one's head, ever? It's a question all the great thinkers are puzzling over."

"Oh." William found himself at a loss. He couldn't think of any more questions to ask the obliging doctor, although he knew he had more. He should've made a list. Lists were always helpful.

"Well, then… I suppose that's it," he finished lamely. The doctor smiled.

"Alright, then," he said. "I'll just go get a few of those informational pamphlets and you can be on your way."

He walked out of the room. William waited patiently for the few minutes Dr. Cooper was gone. With his mind idle, the show tune crept back into his immediate consciousness.

The doctor returned shortly, three brightly colored pamphlets in hand. Will thanked him as he took them. He glanced down and saw that on the front of the first one, three smiling young teenagers stood facing the fourth wall, each with differently colored hearts above their heads. He stifled the urge to sigh.

He felt fourteen again. And not in a good way.

* * *

William absently hummed as he walked back to Charles's house. He was beginning to grow annoyed. It wasn't as if he disliked the song that had oh-so-considerately lodged itself into his skull. He just wished it would stop repeating itself over and over and over and _over_ again in his head.

He didn't even know all the words to the stupid song. _Give 'em the old razzle dazzle, razzle dazzle 'em… something, something… something, and…_ something about sequins. It was quite maddening.

He walked on, through the heart of town. He quietly observed the variety of shops and the people that flitted in and out of them. Two such people caught his eye and he immediately stopped. He felt the color drain from his face.

But that infuriating song played on in his head.

Elizabeth Bennet walked on, a smile on her face and a cup of what appeared to be coffee in her hand, completely oblivious to Will's presence. Her companion, however, caught sight of him and froze.

George Wickham stared at William Darcy. William Darcy gave George Wickham the dirtiest glare he could muster. Wickham had the decency to look just a little bit nervous.

Lizzy stopped, noticing that George had stopped also, and looked back at him questioningly. She followed his gaze and was surprised to find Darcy standing across the street looking positively murderous. She gave him a small, confused wave.

He turned and fled.

As he stalked off, the words of the song came back to him in a moment of clarity.

_Give 'em the old razzle dazzle_

_Razzle dazzle 'em_

_How can they see with sequins in their eyes?*_

_

* * *

_

***_Razzle Dazzle _(c) Kander and Ebb, and all the other _Chicago_ people.**

**R&R! ...please? **


	6. Day 4, continued

**A/N—So. School started. Please accept my deepest, most sincere apologies for the lateness of this chapter.**

**

* * *

  
**

Wickham!

Wickham!

For God's sake, Wickham!

William's blood boiled as he stomped towards Charles's house in high dudgeon. How _dare_ that _man_ show his face! His mind was in such a cloudy haze of anger and repulsion, it took him several long minutes to even grasp the other things he had observed.

When he did, though, he felt like he'd been punched in the gut. He also felt sick to his stomach, but whether that was caused by the punch in the gut or was a unique feeling in itself was unclear.

Wickham was with Elizabeth! Dearest, loveliest Elizabeth! Why, he felt he could strangle someone, he did. It was a good thing he had gotten home so quickly; woe to any hapless creature that may have crossed his path then!

He couldn't believe it. Wickham, _there_ of all places. How could the vilest, basest, most loathsome low down dirty rotten scumbag end up _there?_ That man was a rat that wasn't worth the gum under his Elizabeth's shoe. No, he wasn't even a rat—they were too good for the likes of him. He was a _flea_ on a rat. No, he was an _amoeba_ on a flea on a rat!

William was so absorbed with his own festering anger that he hardly noticed he had arrived at Netherfield. His feet moved by their own will and carried him to his room without his knowing. He only became aware of his surroundings when he heard himself slam the door to his room shut, effectively jarring him out of his own internal furnace. It was just as well; he didn't feel up to polite conversation.

Especially not with someone as jolly as Charles. And _especially_ not with someone as… as… like Caroline.

* * *

When Will could finally breathe again, he decided it was safe enough to venture out into the world again.

The fact that it was safe, however, did not mean that Will's mood wasn't sufficiently dark enough to frighten away small children. Still, he no longer felt the need to hit someone, and that was enough for him. He had amazing self-control when he really needed it. (And boy, did he need it.)

Thinking of Wickham (he couldn't help but mutter a few more choice words) ultimately led him to think of his sister Georgie. He realized he hadn't gotten her anything yet, as he always did when he went away on business trips and the like. He had been too busy thinking of _another_ female during his stay for, well, much else. He felt rightly ashamed and resolved to go out then and there and buy her something nice. Then, maybe he would borrow Charles's laptop to see if she'd sent him an e-mail, and send her one himself.

On his way out, he passed through the living room, and there he found Charles sitting on the couch conversing with someone over the telephone. Charles caught sight of him and let his greeting die on his tongue as he took in William's severe expression. He put a hand to the receiver and quietly asked, "What's wrong?" To this, William only shook his head.

"Who's that?" Darcy asked.

Immediately, Charles brightened, a familiar light coming to his eyes.

"Jane," he answered, and turned his attention back to his discussion. William bit back a groan.

It was starting again.

Charles had been attentive enough to the eldest of the five Miss Bennets prior to this, but now the fair-haired man had the look of love about him. William had nothing against her personally; she was friendly, exceedingly polite, and quite kind—but therein lay the problem. William had never detected in her anything but general niceness towards everyone. She seemed to enjoy Charles's attentions, but she never sought them outright, and she treated him no differently than she treated Will himself, or even Caroline for that matter. He wouldn't have felt so badly about the business if she reciprocated at least some of the feeling Charles had for her, but whenever Will saw her, she was calm, poised, and wholly unaffected.

He ran a hand through his hair, as he was wont to do when his spirits were agitated, and sighed. He would have to do something about that. But first things first.

He needed to buy Georgie a present.

* * *

He decided to go to a bookstore in town.

He'd remembered that over the past few weeks, Georgie had mentioned a particular book and that she wanted to take a look at it; all her friends had been raving about it all summer, it was the hottest thing to hit the shelf this season, etc., etc., and so forth. So when he entered the store, he sidled his way on over to the teen fiction section.

His eyes roved over the titles of the ridiculous romance novels present in abundance until he found the name he was looking for. He pulled out the book and began to read the back cover when he heard two familiar voices on the other side of the bookcase.

"Ehmigawd, _Kitty!_ _Look!_" squealed Lydia, Jane and Elizabeth's youngest sister. The second youngest, Kitty, gasped in response.

"No _way!_" she breathed. "I can't believe they have it! This has been sold out for weeks!"

"I _know_, right? Every girl in the country wants the story of Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Handsome and his tragic past."

"I _know_. _Speaking_ of Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome, did you _hear_ what Will Darcy did for Jane and Lizzy yesterday?"

"What, the cake thing? Yeah. I guess he's, like, not such a jerk after all."

"What-_ev._ He can be the biggest jerk in the world, but I _swear_, he has, like, _the_ most gorgeous eyes in the world."

"And a pretty _gorgeous_ bank account on top of it!"

"I _know,_ right?"

The two girls tittered.

"And so does his friend."

"Charlie? Yeah. Not as much as him, though."

"So what? If Jane were smart, she'd, like, grab a hold of him and, like, _never _let go."

"_Right?_"

William stood, mouth agape, horrified. He was saved from hearing any more of this mortifying conversation, however, because a young man with "like, _amazing_ hair" caught their interest, thus causing them to go over to another section to flirt with him.

He took Georgie's book and moved as far away from the two young Bennets as quickly as possible.

He then found himself in the new releases section. His eyes were quickly riveted to the cover of a new publication by his favorite author, and as he reached for it, he heard two more voices that he was well acquainted with.

"Oh, Charles, that sounds _great! _When do you plan on…? The 30th? …Of course you can. Alright… bye."

The voice he recognized as Jane Bennet's had performed a little decrescendo, and its owner finished with a little sigh.

"So you've finally decided to rejoin the real world, eh?"

His heart (the one inside his chest, not atop his head) gaze a little flutter at the sound of his—of Elizabeth's voice. He frowned at its juvenile behavior.

Her remark garnered no audible reply from her sister, and after a moment, Lizzy spoke again, her voice surprisingly soft and earnest.

"You're like you're in your own little world when you talk to him… You really like him, don't you?"

Even softer was her sister's reply. It was so quiet, William almost missed it, and he strained his ears to catch every word.

"I do, I do really like him."

Even at such a low volume, William was struck with the sincerity in her tone.

And that was that. No more was said on the subject. The next words came only long moments afterward, from Elizabeth's lips.

"Hah! Jane, come read this!"

William slunk away, feeling quite guilty, and quietly made his purchases. He thankfully did not meet any of the Bennet troupe on the way out. He wasn't quite sure how he would have reacted if he had.

* * *

When William returned, Charles was waiting for him expectantly.

"Will, guess that?" Bingley had asked as soon as he saw his friend. He didn't give Will a chance to reply, but continued on hastily, "I'm throwing a party!"

Would Will's misfortunes ever cease on this accursed day?

"That's wonderful, Charles," he said with an absolute lack of enthusiasm. If such a thing existed, one could describe it as anti-enthusiastic.

"Oh, don't be such a wet blanket!" Charles chided with a good-natured smile. "I know you don't like parties all that much, but this one's going to be great, I promise!"

William sighed.

"Well, I'll try to be accommodating, for your sake."

"There's a good fellow!" Charles chirped, heartily clapping his friend on the back. He then eyed the bag in Will's hand.

"What's that?"

"A book for Georgie, and one for me."

"Ah, Georgie!" Charles's tone was infused with warmth at the mention of the girl. "You spoil her, you know, always buying her trinkets and other such things."

"Yes, well, I try."

"To spoil her?"

William rolled his eyes, but didn't grace Charles with a response. That was when Caroline decided to insert herself into the conversation.

"Georgiana!" she exclaimed from the adjacent room, having overheard the exchange. She walked into view, continuing, "Oh, how I do dote on her. Charles, don't be ridiculous; Wills can't _spoil_ her. She's much too humble to be moved by frivolous extravagance."

"Books are hardly frivolous extravagance," Will commented dryly. Caroline shrugged, as if rolling the comment off her shoulders.

"You know I was talking about other things."

"So you think the things I buy for her are worthless trinkets?" he accused testily.

Caroline lifted her brows in alarm. She never wished to upset her Mr. Darcy, and clearly her innocent words were being twisted into an insult inside his head. Her mind worked quickly to remedy the situation.

"Oh, no, of course not," she repaired with remarkable aplomb. "I was merely saying that, in general, Georgiana is not likely to become spoilt, based on her disposition."

William sighed. He knew Caroline had meant it as a compliment, but he was still rankled by the encounter with Wickham and his overhearing of those insipid younger girls. In addition, weighing heavily on his mind was the guilt of his misjudging Jane.

Plus, Caroline was not exactly his favorite person in the world.

He shook his head to rid himself of his negative emotions.

"I have to go check my e-mail," he declared a bit gruffly. He walked off, trying to conceal his agitation, but, for the most part, failing.

Brother and sister watched him leave with equal parts confusion and concern. Caroline made as if to follow him, but Charles intercepted her attention, sensing that William did not want or need any company.

"Caroline, you want to help plan the party?"

This was pleasing to her.

"When can we start?"

* * *

William swore that if Charles's laptop went any slower, he would have to hurt someone.

Just as he resolved to go and punch some poor, unwitting citizen in the face—preferably Wickham—the monitor displayed what he had waited about fifteen minutes for.

His email inbox was full.

Most of the messages were from work, but his eyes quickly found an email from his sister among the slew of others, and immediately clicked on it.

_Dearest, Most Beloved Brother,_ it began.

_I am quite miffed with you. Apparently you have forgotten your poor little sister during your stay with the affable Mr. Bingley and his… sister. Do say hello to them for me, by the way; especially Caroline, for as we both know 'she does dote on me.'_

Here, he laughed outright, his sister's near-exact quotation of the woman dispelling most of his bad mood. To think that Miss Bingley had just uttered those words not twenty minutes before! The coincidence was uncanny.

_Now, I did want to say hello, but that isn't the real reason for this email. What I really want to know is this: have you done what I asked? If you know what's good for you (literally) you better have. Now, I want a reply to this as soon as possible, mister, with lots and lots of detail (lots and lots! Excruciating detail!). Do NOT, repeat, do NOT just list a couple of random names and say, 'Oh, they're nice,' or whatever. I want details! Details, details, details! I want to be able to identify them blindfolded and in a straightjacket! Do you hear me?_

William rolled his eyes even as he bit back a groan. He'd nearly forgotten. Georgie had wanted him to "make new friends because it would good for him."

Excruciating detail. Right.

Why did it seem like everyone in his family thought he needed a life? He had a life, thank you very much! It just so happened to be that most of it was spent at Pemberley Enterprises. It wasn't his fault that he was an _integral_ part of the company, right?

He sighed and was thrown back into unhappiness. He wanted to please Georgie, he really did (he did dote on her as well), but he was not comfortable with the thought of describing his new acquaintances in _excruciating_ detail.

He hit the reply button. Then he set to catering to his sister's wishes without digging himself into too big of a hole.


	7. Day 5

**A/N—Late chapter is late, sorry. But I think I finally figured out a good sleep/writing schedule (since it has been made abundantly clear that I absolutely can**_**not**_** write during the daytime) so hopefully my updates will be more regular from here on out. This chap was edited by my good friend Alex (thank you!). :]**

**

* * *

**

**Day 5**

William awoke from what could possibly have been the strangest dream he'd had in a long time.

In his dream, he'd found himself in what he _knew_ was Pemberley Enterprises, but what looked more like his old high school. He'd wandered the empty halls and corridors, peering into silent classrooms and making his way steadily toward something he couldn't put a name to.

He then found himself in the gym, which was much larger than he remembered. Underneath one of the basketball hoops stood George Wickham, looking calm and collected, and not at all surprised to see Will. George then spoke, but Will couldn't remember exactly what he said; he only knew that it irked him. George challenged William to a race, which William accepted with a sort of eager anticipation.

As they ran, William felt strangely light, as if he were just a bystander within his own body, watching himself run through eyes that, at the same time, were and were not his own. He nearly made it to the far wall—he didn't know exactly how far George was behind him, if he was behind him at all—when the sprinklers went off.

Will gazed up at them with a sense of terror. Then, he looked down to find the gym flooding. He sloshed messily to the door, but couldn't seem to open it, and the water rose far too quickly for his comfort. Before he knew it, he was being pressed against the high ceiling, the available oxygen being smothered by raging liquid. He took one last large gulp of air and dove under, vainly trying to find some way out before he ran out of breath.

He couldn't see anything. The water was dark and murky and panic rose in his chest. Instinctively, he took a breath, water filling his lungs until he was sure they were about to burst, and he was shocked to find that he did not drown. He inhaled and exhaled and was immensely relieved and surprised, but he allowed himself to drift, drift, drift right on, out of one of the large windows, and into a grand room, beautifully furnished with a golden and maroon color scheme. He stood up and looked around.

A child sat in a dark back corner, looking sad and emaciated, his hands folded neatly in his lap. Will approached him and tried to joke with him, but he would not laugh. The child kept his head down and refused to look at Will for more than a few seconds.

Then, Lizzy appeared beside him. Will greeted her stiffly and she rolled her eyes at him before turning her attention to the child.

"Come on," she said, and took his hand. Will watched them with curiosity as the boy stood and smiled. They began to speak. Every few sentences were punctuated with a laugh or a smile, and they seemed to be having a grand time.

And then there was some stuff about flying walruses and being in a video game or something.

He didn't really remember much after that.

* * *

"We were invited over for dinner."

He'd happened upon Charles in the East Wing ballroom when Charles had given the blow. The fairer-haired man had been peering at the décor with the air of one assessing the value of a piece of fine art.

Sigh. More socialization. Will thought vacations were supposed to be for relaxing and enjoying oneself. So far, this vacation had been about neither.

"By who?" he asked.

"The Bennets."

He nearly swore. That family had practically become a constant fixture in his life. Sure, Jane and Lizzy were… good company, he supposed, but the others he did not exactly enjoy spending time with. Charles continued.

"Mrs. Bennet said she felt like she needed to thank us for our hospitality—"

"You mean, thank _you_ for _your_ hospitality—"

"—when Jane was sick and Lizzy came to visit, so she's making a special meal just for us."

William sighed.

"Is Caroline coming?"

"Probably not," a female voice answered from behind one of the large curtains. Caroline's head peeped out. "I might be going to a musical with Erik as a field trip of sorts, to see how singers perform onstage. That is, of course, if his _prized student_ decides to stick to her word and not show." The last part was said under her breath.

"What was that?"

"Nothing." She went back to appraising the view outside the grand windows, deciding if it were fine enough for this section of the house to host part of the festivities planned for the end of the month.

This alleviated Will's fears somewhat. Caroline plus the Bennets equaled a bloody mess, in Will's mind. The only thing more painful than trying (and failing) to make small talk with complete strangers was watching Caroline Bingley interact with the Bennet family. The possibility that she might not attend was a great relief.

"Do I have to come?"

"Do you have an excuse not to come?"

"Maybe."

"You have to come."

"But _I'm_ not the one who was generous and hospitable. That was all you."

"It would be rude for only _me_ to go when they're expecting a party of three. You know the saying, 'Two out of three ain't bad'?"

"Isn't that from a song?"

"It would be easier to understand if one person were missing because they had a previous engagement than if all but one were missing."

"Well, when you put it _that_ way…"

"Great! I knew you'd come to your senses. Besides, I knew you wouldn't want to, you know… seem _terribly_ rude, _especially _in front of Lizzy…"

"Al_right,_ alright. I get it. I'll go."

"And you'll enjoy it, I promise you, Will."

"Right. Do I get anything if you're wrong?"

"Disapproval."

"Now that's not _fair_."

"Life's not fair, William."

"Coming from Charles Bingley! I think that's the most pessimistic thing I've ever heard you say."

"Sorry about that. Anyway, want to help me plan this party?"

"No thanks."

"Your loss."

"I'll just go cry in a corner, then."

"Have fun!"

"Will do."

* * *

"Charles! We are so glad to see you! Oh, and you, too, Mr. Darcy."

Mrs. Bennet's strange greeting did little to alter either man's mood. Charles would be his perfectly charming, unaffected self. William would be distinctly uneasy. He shifted, and thus revealed the third member of their party. Mrs. Bennet caught sight of her and fawned.

"Oh, _Caroline_, I did not _see_ you there! How well you look! I'm so glad you could make it; I understood you had other engagements."

Carline had the good grace not to frown, but her brittle smile could not exactly be called polite. The matron paid this no mind, however, and took their coats, inviting them to "make themselves at home" and assuring them "dinner will be served promptly!" The three found themselves ushered into the living room, and there they met the five lovely faces of the daughters Bennet.

The two youngest, Kitty and Lydia, chatted with each other, completely oblivious to the visitors (except, of course, for the moments they snuck suggestive glances at the two men) as they gleefully reveled in celebrity gossip. Mary, the middle child, smiled at them briefly upon their entrance, and then went back to studying an intricate piano score. The elder two, in contrast, rose to greet them with smiles and good-wishes. Jane even gave Charles a hug.

If William had any lingering doubts about Jane's feelings toward Charles, they were done away with when he observed her behavior as she greeted the group. He'd watched as recognition crossed her face at the sight of his friend, followed by a warm glow coming to her eyes as she approached him. After Charles and Jane had hugged, she'd turned to William with a friendly smile and a distinct lack of that special warmth.

He found himself smiling back.

This was all well and good, but, call him selfish, he wanted to see how Lizzy would react to him. Some small part inside him hoped that she would look at him that way, that she would have that special look of homecoming in her eyes when he turned to her, but alas! She was only mildly friendly.

They were invited to sit, and so they did. Jane, Charles, and Lizzy struck up an easy conversation, Caroline providing testy input now and then. When William was addressed, he spoke, but for the most part he was silent, content to listen to their easy banter.

Throughout the exchange, William noticed that Lizzy seemed quieter than usual, less boisterous. She kept shooting him curious glances filled with a mixture of thoughtfulness, doubt, and distrust. This mystified him. After she had looked his way for about the fortieth time, William blurted, "Are you alright, Elizabeth?"

She seemed started at his address. Jane, Charles, and Caroline sent him confused looks.

"I'm… fine, thank you," she answered to William's complete dissatisfaction. He frowned slightly.

"Why do you keep looking at me like that?"

Her brows rose. Instead of denying his claim, she countered it.

"I could ask you the same thing."

William felt his cheeks grow hot, but he couldn't tell if it showed or not. Was a man with so stirring an emotion as lo—infatuation _not_ supposed to seal covert glances at his belo—the object of said infatuation?

He was saved from replying when Mrs. Bennet's voice rang out, barely suppressing what could only be described as giddiness.

"Dinner is served!"

The two youngest flounced out of the room first, followed by the two older Bennets and the Bingley party. Mary lagged behind; during her sisters' chat, she'd swapped the piano score for a riveting collection of philosophical essays and was loathe to interrupt her reading for something so trivial as _food._

The dinner table was handsomely set with a variety of succulent dishes, all of which were created by Mrs. Bennet herself. If there was one thing the woman prided herself on, it was her cooking. She refused to hire a cook, even though the family had the means to do so.

Mr. Bennet joined them at the table with a newspaper in hand and when everyone was happily situated the guests making exclamations about the delicious food that, although dictated by politeness, were altogether truthful and sincere, Mrs. Bennet began to speak.

"Now, Charles, you know the reason we've asked you here," she began.

"Oh, please," Charles said hastily, "you don't need to thank us for anything! Really!"

"But you took care of poor Jane for an entire week! And you put up with Lizzy for just as long, too. You weren't too troublesome, were you, dear?"

"It was no trouble at all. We quite enjoyed the company," Charles assured her, even as Will frowned at Mrs. Bennet's comment about her daughter. William glanced at Elizabeth and found her composure compromised. She recovered beautifully, however.

"Well, you must admit, I can be quite a handful sometimes," she acknowledged teasingly, garnering a chuckle from behind the newspaper at the head of the table. Without ceremony, Lizzy pinned William to his seat with her eyes. "Isn't that right, Mr. Darcy?"

For half a second, he simply stared at her. He saw the familiar flash of challenge in her eyes, brightening them to a shade of brilliance that made his breath catch. He was getting better with his reactions, though, and quickly took the bait.

"I'm afraid so," he remarked gravely. What most of the people at the table did not catch was the amused glint in his eyes directed toward Elizabeth to let her know he was jesting. "But," he continued, allowing a small smile that could almost be called a smirk to grace his features, "in no way does that detract from the excellence of her company."

He focused on his plate in order to clock out the others' reactions. He was going out on a limb, for sure. Walking on thin ice. Walking a thin tightrope. Treading dangerous water. Running out into oncoming traffic.

Getting off topic with his analogies.

He focused on his plate, and therefore missed the confused looks most of the dinner-goers were giving him. The poor creatures had not the slightest ability to read Will, and so he proved to be quite strange to them, with his widely varying moods around them and whatnot. None of them, save Charles—but why did Jane have a small, knowing smile on her face?—could guess that was pretty much as close as William Darcy could and would get to flirting.

Most of them decided it was a sort of back-handed compliment. Mr. Bennet, in contrast, was vastly pleased. _He_ understood perfectly.

"We are just very grateful," Mrs. Bennet finished after recovering from Darcy's comment. That was when her youngest daughter chose to speak to Charles.

"So, we heard you were, like, throwing a party?"

Charles brightened.

"Yes," he declared firmly. "On November 30th. We've just started to plan, but it's going to be a smash, I can see it already!"

Kitty and Lydia giggled.

"So, like, are _we_ invited?"

"Of course!" he assured them. "All of you. We'd be devastated if you couldn't come."

"Of course," Caroline added with a tight smile, "it will be a formal event. Some of the most influential people in town will be attending."

William knew for a fact that they hadn't even thought up the guest list yet, and that was Caroline's way of simultaneously gloating and saying 'either don't show up or be on your best behavior, or else you will be shunned forevermore.' That was not what he was focusing on, though. A formal event? If he wasn't over this little… _fancy_ by then—which he hoped he would be, but, with a sense of dread, didn't think it likely—what was he to do? He couldn't exactly attend and/or host a formal party wearing a blue baseball cap and tuxedo. How would he hide that… _thing_ above his head?

He caught Lizzy glancing at him again with a thoughtful and somewhat serious countenance, and wondered at how she seemed to draw him in with every look, every expression she made.

And then, he thought, just for a moment—well, maybe he shouldn't.

* * *

Well into the feast, several small, isolated conversations developed amongst the diners. William kept mostly to himself, as was his wont. He was too busy worrying about Caroline picking a fight and wondering when this business would be over with to participate much in conversation. He was conscious enough of the others, however, to feel a set of eyes boring into him after a while. He glanced up and was met with the deceptively calm gaze of Miss Elizabeth Bennet. He lifted a brow. She decided it was invitation enough to speak.

"You once told me, _Mr. Darcy_," she began, emphasizing his name as was her custom, "that you hold terrible grudges." Her look was penetrating.

"Yeah…" he answered, his face speaking of his confusion.

"Well…" She appeared to be choosing her words carefully. "You're careful to guard against making hasty judgments of other people, yes?"

"Of course!" he said, his surprise showing plainly. If there was only one aspect of his character he could claim, it would be that. He would never try to judge, assess, or discriminate someone unfairly. He always gave people the benefit of the doubt.

Where was this coming from, anyway?

"Why do you ask?"

She smiled slightly.

"I'm just trying to make you out."

He took in a forkful of his meal.

"And how is that working out for you?"

She sipped some of her drink.

"You, sir, continue to be a walking enigma."

His brow creased faintly. Either she meant he was mysterious, which was good (he thought), or confusing, which was bad and not so very flattering to hear, considering she was his first romantic interest… ever.

"Is that a good or bad thing?"

He toyed with his food.

"I've yet to decide."

He went back to worrying.

"I mean," she continued, "what I've heard and what I've seen have been pretty much all over the map."

Heard? He chewed his food more slowly, suspicion creeping into his being.

"What, exactly, have you heard?"

She smiled, but it was frighteningly un-Lizzy-like.

"Oh, well, I met this guy yesterday in town—said he knew you—George Wickham? Ring any bells?"

His expression darkened and he chewed his steak with much more energy than was strictly necessary.

"Yeah," she continued. "Nice guy. And boy, did he have some stories!"

"Oh, yes, I'm sure he's _full_ of stories." William's voice was low and threatening, his eyes as hard as granite. He took a deep, slow breath in an effort to calm himself. When he spoke again, his voice was firm, but lost the smoldering intensity it had before. "I suggest you stay away from him. He's not someone you should hang out with."

Her brows shot upward, successfully showing that she couldn't believe he had the _audacity_ to dictate who her friends were.

"I have the right to spend time with whomever I choose, _thank _you."

"No, I didn't—" He sighed. "I didn't mean it like _that._ I'm just trying to warn you. George Wickham is not a good person."

She stared him down until he dropped his gaze and stabbed at his food.

"Your mother really _is_ a good cook," he said gruffly, effectively ending the tense exchange.

* * *

They had fallen out of his pocket.

The Bingley party had been getting ready to leave after retiring to the living room for light conversation when dinner had finished. That is when it happened.

William had meant to take his cell phone out of his pocket to check the time, quite forgetting that they were even there, and they slid onto the floor as he pulled the mobile device out. He stared at them in horror.

When he had woken up in the morning, he had seen the Sweet Hearts brochures (he had taken to calling them that in his mind) on the desk in his room and realized that he'd never stopped to read them the day before. He subsequently folded them up and put them in his pocket for future reference and promptly and completely forgot about them. He was reminded of them now, though, oh was he _reminded_ of them!

And, of course, the people he wanted least of all to see them had seen them.

At least the entire Bennet clan hadn't witnessed it—after dinner, Kitty and Lydia had disappeared and Mary had retired to the piano in another room on the other side of the house. Mr. Bennet had gone straight to his library, and Mrs. Bennet was in the process of wrapping up some dessert for them to take back to Netherfield. But, of course, Jane was there. Caroline was there.

Oh, God, Lizzy was there.

She was the one to bend down and pick them up, even. William was too mortified to do anything but stand there. Her eyebrows quirked as she read the titles.

"_What_ are _these?_" she asked with the suggestive tone one would use when discovering naughty magazines beneath one's best friend's bed. She flipped through them, scanning their contents.

"It's—they're—uh—well—research," William lied smoothly. "For—uh, research and resources for Pemberley Enterprises—ah—over the summer, we, uh, hired a lot of, uh, teens—admin assistants and interns, you know—this has been getting to be, ah, quite a problem—creating air traffic, if you will—can I have those back?"

Lizzy humored him, but with an air of utter disbelief.

William Alexander Darcy was not a very good liar. That was part of the reason he usually stayed away from it.

"I'll, uh, meet you at the car," he told Charles and Caroline. "Thanks for the dinner," he said, addressing the present Bennets. "And tell your mom the, uh, food was excellent."

He was gone faster than a cheetah being chased by another cheetah.

Lizzy shook her head.

"What is _wrong_ with that man?"

Jane lifted her eyes heavenward before reprimanding her sister.

"_Liz_zy!"

* * *

The ride back home was stiff and uncomfortable. The radio was silent and Charles was fidgeting at the wheel because of the tense quiet. William stared straight ahead, a stricken look on his face, for about half the trip. The two men in front received waves of negativity from Caroline in the backseat—much more than would have been deemed necessary for someone who claimed only dislike toward the family they'd just socialized with.

It was Charles who broke the silence.

"So."

No one responded.

"That was _terrible_," Will finally squeezed out. Charles grimaced.

"I'm sorry, Will."

"Oh, I _know,"_ Caroline agreed, completely misunderstanding Will's statement. She put her unquestioning and implicit trust in Mr. Darcy. She did not even think to question his story. "Did you see the younger two? Com_pletely _absorbed in themselves and their petty _gossip_—" They might have laughed if they were feeling better; _Caroline_ disapproving someone _else_ for being self-absorbent and gossipy? "—and the middle girl, I forget her name—_reading! _At the table! When there were guests! She was nearly as bad as her father, who did the same thing, but at least she was _discreet_ about it! It was as if he were _flaunting_ what a bad host he was! And the _food!_"

Needless to say, the trip back to Netherfield was highly pleasant, indeed.


	8. Day 6

**A/N—Would've had this chapter up yesterday, but yesterday was kind of hectic (PSATs, Toy Story double feature, etc.) **

* * *

**Day 6**

Once again, William woke from a vivid dream. This one wasn't of the unusual sort—at least, he didn't think so; he'd forgotten it as soon as he woke. All he remembered was that it somehow involved him, with a plate of candy hearts, and Elizabeth, who found something infinitely amusing.

There must've been more to it, though, because upon awakening, he felt very, very good. And not the usual 'yes-I-just-closed-an-amazing-business-deal' kind of good, but something immensely _better_ and (strangely) more satisfying (because what could be more satisfying than closing an amazing business deal?).

Of course, he remembered not of it, so he had no idea why he felt that way.

He was so contented, in fact, that Charles remarked upon it when he first saw William in the morning. This time, they'd run into each other in one of the numerous hallways of Netherfield Manor. William had just finished up breakfast and was on his way to the library for some quiet and privacy. Charles was about to make a run for the closest convenience store.

"Will, are you okay?"

Surprise and confusion adorned Will's features.

"That was a stupid question; of course you're okay," Charles said, shaking his head. "What I mean is, what's got you in such a good mood?"

Will shrugged, but a hint of a smile tugged at his lips.

"Today just feels like it's going to be a good day."

"_That's _what I like to hear!" Charles crowed, holding a hand up for a high-five. William gladly obliged him. "I don't think I've heard something like that from you in months," Charles admitted. It was probably true, but Will wasn't about to let that bring him down, not when things felt so promising.

"Well, you're hearing it now," he said. "And if you'll excuse me, I need to get to the library."

Charles grinned and stepped to the side.

"Be my guest!"

William smirked and walked on by.

"I already am!"

Charles rolled his eyes, but laughed as he walked in the opposite direction.

* * *

Will settled down in a comfortable chair near a window. For a moment, he simply admired the buoyantly optimistic clouds drifting in the clear, blue sky. He noted the trees outside—the crisp, colorful leaves swayed gently in the light breeze. He imagined the weather outside to be perfect, and resolved that after he was finished reading, he would go to the nearby park in order to fully appreciate the picturesque day.

With that in mind, he withdrew the folded brochures from his pocket and examined one's cover. That was the one with the triple-teen alliance, the group that presented a wonderful picture of openness and self-assurance. The text beneath them read 'Your New Feelings: Making Sense of Them.' He opened it up.

'_So. It's happened_,' it read. '_You woke up one day, feeling completely normal. When you looked in the mirror, though, you immediately noticed something—something surprising and unfamiliar. A small, colored heart was floating above your head! You might have wondered where it came from and what it meant. Well, this is your lucky day. This pamphlet will try to answer most, if not all of your questions._

'_**Okay… What Just Happened?**_

'_Most likely, you've had your eye on some lucky guy or girl before this heart appeared above your head. The appearance of this heart is directly tied to this. It means your feelings for this person have grown into something deeper than your average crush. _This heart is a symbol of first love. _It's literally that excess feeling you have for that person—in heart form! Now, you might be wondering a few things right about now. Don't worry, we'll get to them._

'_**Is This Normal?**_

'_This is _completely _normal! Every person—well, almost every person—has gone through this at one time or another. It's a sign that you're growing up. It means you're capable of having deep feelings for another person. _

'What if I think I'm too young? _You may think you're too young to harbor such feelings, but that heart above your head says otherwise. If you have this view, _don't sweat it!_ This doesn't mean you have to get _married_ to the person. In fact, you don't have to do anything at all. It's just like if you have a plate of brownies in front of you. Just because it's there doesn't mean you have to eat any of them. You may not be hungry. You may not like chocolate. You may even be lactose intolerant! _You are not required to do anything.

'What if I think I'm too old?'

Ah. Here was where Will's attention was piqued.

'_You're never too old to experience love! Everyone is different. Some start later than others. It's just like going through puberty—not everyone does it at the same time.'_

Yeah. That made him feel a _whole _lot better.

'_This may indicate that you're more careful in allowing yourself to have feelings for another person. Or, it could just mean you're different. Don't be upset! Being different isn't a bad thing—heck, this culture _celebrates _being different! _

Darcy snorted.

'_**What exactly **_**is **_**it?**_

'_Floating above your head is a small, colored heart. The heart is filled with delicious chocolate—and yes, you can eat it if you want! More will pop into place until the feelings fade. Just don't eat too many. You might get a toothache!_

_Different colors mean different things. They indicate the nature of your feelings. Someone with a red heart does not have the same 'love' as someone with a white heart. A list of common colors and their meanings can be found on the back of this pamphlet (Figure 2.1).'_

Darcy flipped the pamphlet over and scanned the list for the color red. When he found it, he didn't know whether to smile or to curse.

'_Red—Deep Love. Face it. You've fallen and you've fallen _hard._ Red signals you love another person wholly—you know their flaws, and yet you still embrace their entire personality. Red is quite rare.'_

William put the brochure down, letting his hands fall into his lap. He listened to the silence for a few long minutes, reveling in the peace and utter stillness of the moment.

Then, he hunched forward and held his head in his hands.

_Cripes._

Now he really wanted a brownie.

* * *

William walked down the park path, a bag filled with baked goodies in his hand. He strolled at a leisurely pace, enjoying the crisp breeze and the slight warmth radiating from the bottom of his bag. The air was thick with the scents of fall, but a different smell wafted up to meet his nostrils—that of chocolate. He reached inside the bag and broke of a piece of brownie before bringing it to his lips.

The park was a nice one—fairly large, it had an open field-area with a children's playground off to the side, as well as a wooded area along its fringes. That area had a variety of paths one could get lost on. That was where William currently found himself.

It was quiet, except for the rustling of dried leaves in the wind and the crunching beneath his feet whenever he took a step. Leaves of every warm hue littered the ground and provided a colorful canopy. It was the epitome of serenity.

He was quite surprised when he nearly bumped into someone he knew.

"Elizabeth!" He nearly dropped his bag. She was just as surprised to see him. After he recovered, he practically flushed with pleasure.

She looked, essentially, like she _belonged._ Her eyes were brightened and she seemed completely at home here among the fall foliage. Once he saw her, the heart inside his chest quickened its pace while the one beneath his hat quivered in elation.

The breeze had blown a leaf into her hair. Before he realized what he was doing, he reached out and gently extracted it from her auburn tresses.

"How are you?" he asked with more feeling than he intended. He cleared his throat, embarrassed with himself, and tried to cover it up by awkwardly holding out the white paper bag in his hand. "Brownie?"

She smiled in spite of herself, told him she was doing well, and accepted the proffered treat. He'd sensed that she wasn't exactly pleased to see him for some reason, but his edible peace offering seemed to mollify her for the time being.

"Thanks. These are still warm!" she exclaimed in surprised delight. She closed her eyes, savoring the semisweet delicacy. Darcy smiled.

"Yeah, I just got them from the bakery," he said.

"The one across from the library?"

"Yeah."

"They have the best apple turnovers, too."

They'd unconsciously started to walk again, continuing on the path side by side. Their pace was a languid one.

"My mom actually worked there for a while," she continued. "She actually came up with the recipe for these brownies."

"Really?" he asked with interest. "I can actually imagine that. Your mother can do some amazing things with food."

Lizzy laughed.

"It's one of her few good qualities."

Although William agreed, he didn't quite think it appropriate to agree verbally. He settled for a smirk.

After that, they lapsed into silence. William didn't know what to do with himself and grew self conscious. He snuck glances at Elizabeth and observed that she had gone to eyeing him with suspicion.

He desperately wanted to end the silence.

"So… the weather's really nice to day, huh?"

Lizzy looked at him for a moment before she burst out laughing. The wind kicked up at that time, blowing about a myriad of leaves that swirled around them like falling snow.

"Really? We're discussing the weather?"

William found himself smiling.

"It's true, isn't it? This autumn has been very mild."

"It's global warming."

"It's definitely the economy."

"What, we can't afford to pay for normal weather patterns?"

"Exactly."

William was happy. It had been a long time since he could say that and really mean it. And what was the source of his happiness? The person at his side. He'd known her for barely three weeks, and here he was laughing and joking with her as if they'd been friends for years.

It was the first time he'd felt that being "in love" wasn't just a huge pain in the fanny. He thought he finally realized why people might actually _enjoy_ it.

And then, of course, he went and spoiled it.

"What brings you to the park today, anyway, Elizabeth?"

Something in her air changed, but her outward appearance remained the same.

"I'm actually meeting someone here in a while."

"Oh?" Darcy lifted his brows. "Who?"

Lizzy smiled coolly at him.

"George. George Wickham."

He wished he held his tongue.

"Ah." He withdrew—not physically, exactly, but the openness he had displayed before was completely done away with. "What time?" he asked stiffly.

She took out her cell phone to check the time.

"Pretty soon," she admitted. "He's supposed to be here by now."

"Is he?" Will asked flatly. A wheel turned in his mind. With an unreadable smile, he then asked, "Would you mind if he and I talked a bit before you… do whatever it is you're going to do?"

He got a bad taste in his mouth just thinking about the possibilities of what they could be doing. George was a very persuasive man, and he had a way with the ladies…

He cut his thoughts off. He did _not_ want his mind to travel in _that_ direction.

"Sure," she said, her look questioning.

His mood was steadily improving.

"Brownie?" he offered with a smile.

* * *

They sat on the swings, waiting.

It was noon. George had been officially late for an hour now. Both of their stomachs were growling for want of food.

"You hungry?" Will asked. "I can go get us some sandwiches from the bakery, if you want."

"That sounds good," Lizzy answered. She pulled out her wallet and began to hand him some bills. He shook his head.

"That's okay. It's on me."

It did not sit well with Lizzy, but she wasn't one to pass up free food. She let him go with little protest.

* * *

12:30. Will arrived with grilled ham and cheese sandwiches for them both. He'd also picked up two drinks.

He gave Lizzy her share.

"I hope you don't mind," he said, handing her a glass bottle. "I didn't know what you wanted, but I remember you saying you liked that drink, so I got it."

She lifted her brows, but accepted it with gratitude. The glass chilled her hands and a strong gust of wind made them pull their jackets a bit tighter around them before they began to eat.

* * *

1:00. Two hours after the scheduled meeting time, George was still nowhere to be found. It was getting windier, and the wind now had a bite to it. Will and Lizzy's cheeks were a rosy red, their noses nearly numb.

Lizzy was not happy.

"Where could he possibly be?" Will asked the air.

"Maybe he got lost," Elizabeth grumbled.

Will didn't believe it. This town wasn't big enough to get lost in. He turned to her.

"Do you have his number?"

This did nothing to improve her mood.

"No," she answered. "I forgot to ask. He said he'd call me, anyway."

"Have you received a call?"

He was answered with a clenched jaw and a flashing of the eyes.

* * *

"You know, this isn't the first time he's done this," Darcy murmured.

"Done what?"

"Not show up."

Lizzy was silent.

"We were practically brothers when we were younger."

"He said as much," Lizzy acknowledged with a dangerous edge to her voice. William did not miss this.

"Once, when we were younger, I asked him to pick my sister up from school. She was ten and I was twenty; I'd just started gaining a foothold in Pemberley Enterprises—"

"I thought you were the CEO, son of the CEO or something. Weren't—aren't—you a little young?"

"I was. I am." He looked at her. "My father trained me for the position practically since I could walk. My dad had a lot of influence, but I had to prove to my colleagues I was capable of performing. Not many of them respected me because I was so green; the board was constantly on my back for any little thing they could find. I was working to establish a good reputation for myself, and so I had to stay late. I would have asked my cousin Richard to do it, or even Charles, but Rich was busy with some coursework and Charles was on vacation. So the only person I could turn to was George. I'd made all the arrangements—called the school to tell them he'd be picking her up today, gave them his cell number in case they needed to contact him, the whole nine."

He looked over and saw a squirrel watching them in a nearby tree with disinterest. He tried not to get angry.

"He left her there for four hours."

He looked to Lizzy and saw her surprise.

"Why?"

His smile was a bitter one.

"Said he forgot."

* * *

"Are you kidding?"

William sighed and ran his hand through his hair. How did they even get on this topic, anyway?

"Saying the Trix rabbit deserves to have Trix would be like saying a drug addict deserves to get high!" he contended.

"It would not! How would _you_ feel if something you really wanted was constantly dangled in front of your face, but you could never have it?" she countered.

Well. That hit a little bit close to home, now, didn't it?

"Life's not fair, Elizabeth. We can't all get what we want all the time."

"Really!" She seemed surprised he said that. "The target audience for these commercials is children. _Children!_ You want their poor little hearts to be broken prematurely by the harsh realities of life?"

"Their poor little hearts? It would be steeling _their poor little hearts _against the disappointments of the real world!"

"They're _children_. They don't need to know about the 'real world' just yet. They need innocence; what's the point of trying to have a normal childhood if they don't have it?"

"Innocence! Well, then, tell me what's so innocence about a character who constantly uses trickery and deception to try to get what he wants!"

"He's desperate! Do you want our kids to grow up selfish and greedy? Because that's what these commercials are teaching them."

"So just because he's desperate, it's okay for him to be _fraudulent?_ They're not being selfish or greedy so much as they're upholding the rules. You know the slogan. That rabbit has no right to even be asking for that stuff."

"Oh, so you've never tried to get something you weren't strictly allowed to have?"

"What if it's for his own good? What if those products have ingredients in them that are harmful to animated rabbits? If you drop a piece of chocolate on the floor, a dog will try to eat it."

"Nowhere does it say those things are harmful to rabbits."

"So? Trix doesn't advertise to rabbits. Why would they label it?"

"You know how kids are. They'll feed their pets anything!"

"Well, then, let's go back to the dog-and-chocolate scenario. There are a million and one chocolate and chocolate-based products directed towards children. _They _don't come labeled as bad for pets. I bet that's why there's no more Cookie Crisp dog."

"What?"

"The Cookie Crisp dog was always eating Cookie Crisp. A chocolate-chip-cookie-based cereal. He probably got sick. Or, kids thought it was okay to give their dogs chocolate chip cookies, so the company changed their mascot to a wild animal, which kids can't feed."

"But you're contradicting yourself! A few seconds ago, you were saying they shouldn't label these things as bad for pets, while your example clearly supports labeling."

"Oh, no. What I meant was, since Trix isn't labeled, if you show the rabbit eating Trix, kids might think it's okay to feed pets Trix, when, in truth, it might be harmful to animals. Kids learn from exposure. Show them feeding a dog chocolate and they'll feed a dog chocolate."

"Show them sharing and they'll learn to share."

"Show them successful scheming and they'll become con artists."

It was at this moment that the wind, which was listening to their debate with amusement, decided to end the ridiculous exchange by providing a diversion. An unusually powerful gust blew a wave of leaves in a massive tsunami toward Will and Lizzy.

It, therefore, had the power to blow Will's cap off.

Which it did.

As soon as the cap left his noggin, making it feel decidedly naked, he brought his hands up to try to catch it. He missed the hat, but managed to envelop the candy heart, neatly hiding it from view. His pulse skyrocketed and a dull panic bloomed in his chest.

Without hesitation, he started chasing after his hat, transferring the heart to one hand in order to run faster. The wind taunted him; as soon as he was upon the hat, the gale kicked up again, sending the headwear far out of Will's reach. The candy heart grew hot and sticky, slowly melting against his palm.

At last, he was spared. He caught the baseball cap and put it back on, sticking the heart underneath with a look of disgust. He would have to wash his hair extra well tonight.

When he returned, he found Elizabeth laughing at him. He scowled at her, but not for long—her laugh was as infectious as it was enchanting, and soon he was smiling in spite of himself.

While William tried to covertly wash his hand using a bit of water from a water bottle and napkins left over from lunch, Lizzy received a phone call. She was still chuckling when she answered her mobile communication device.

"Hello? …Oh, hey, Jane!"

William did not mean to eavesdrop, but there was really nothing more for him to do.

"Yeah… really? Four hours? Funny. …Nothing… no, I guess we're done here." She laughed. "I'll tell you at home. See you soon…. Bye."

William looked at her curiously.

"It's three o'clock. I'm not waiting for this guy anymore. Sorry you didn't get to talk to him. I really should get going, though."

Will shrugged.

"It's alright."

He wanted to say something along the lines of, he thought he had spent his time much better, but he couldn't figure out how to articulate his thoughts without his looking like a fool.

"Did you walk here?" he asked. He thought she might have. Walking seemed like her thing.

"Yeah," she answered, confirming his thoughts.

"Would—" He cut himself off. He didn't want to push himself on her, of course. He'd had four hours to spend with Lizzy. He should content himself with that.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Nothing."

Elizabeth gave him a look.

"What?"

"What were you going to say?"

"Nothing! I was just going to ask if I could walk with you." He wasn't able to look at her, so couldn't tell if she noticed the slight reddening of his cheeks.

"Oh. But Netherfield is in the opposite direction."

"I know. I realized that. It's okay, I'm sure you've had enough of me for one day." He gave her a smile, showing that he didn't mind if that were true (but, actually, he did). She smirked.

"Indeed sir, you tire me with your company," she declared dramatically. He gave her a courtesy chuckle. "Seriously though," she continued, "I don't want to take you out of your way."

He nodded.

"Alright, then. See you around, I guess."

"Sure."

There were no lingering glances, no last parting words. They turned and left in a professional and businesslike manner.

* * *

During his trek through town, Darcy discovered quite an interesting sight. He passed a café and saw a man with a familiar face inside seated at a table, looking like he was flirting shamelessly with a waitress. Will's visage darkened as he recognized who it was, but then he realized he'd hit upon the opportunity he'd wanted. He took a deep breath, smoothed out his features, and walked inside.

He plastered a smile on his face and pulled out a chair at the man's table. The waitress was gone by the time he sat down.

"George! What a surprise."

George Wickham visibly blanched, but quickly schooled his countenance into a confident (and sleazy, as perceived by William) smirk.

"Will! Fancy meeting you here. It's been what, four, five years? How's Georgie?"

At the mention of his sister, William nearly cracked. How _dare _Wickham be so audacious, so _malicious?_ He focused on the beads of sweat collected on the glass of soda in front of George. He was worried he might break something if he had to look at George's face for more time than absolutely necessary. (And that thing would most likely be George's face. Then he might face a lawsuit, and _then_ what would he do?)

A muscle is his jaw twitched.

When William decided it was safe enough, he dropped the smile and glared at him full on. George's eyes were sneering and superior. Beneath that, thought, William could detect fear.

Good.

Let him be afraid.

"So you stood her up."

George lifted a brow.

"Stood who up?" he simpered.

"You know very well who."

"I'm afraid I don't. What's her name? Or better yet—," he leaned forward, resting his weight on his elbows, "—describe her for me."

William grabbed the salt shaker and squeezed. He imagined it was Wickham's head.

Then he realized that was exactly what Wickham wanted him to do. George always knew he could get under the normally even-tempered Mr. Darcy's skin. It was his signature. An angry Darcy could no longer be a rational Darcy.

William resolved to remain as calm as possible, or, if that failed, to keep his anger and disgust as carefully hidden as possible. He quirked a brow.

"Elizabeth Bennet. You stood her up."

"What, did she come crying to you? Funny, she gave the impression she didn't really like you."

Ouch. That hurt. Then again, that was Wickham talking. Every word spewing from his mouth could very well be a lie. With his track record, Will would have a hard time believing him if he said, 'Hello, my name is George Wickham.'

"We bumped into each other at the park. I wanted to have a little chat with you, so I waited with her. For _four hours_. Why didn't you ever show?"

George shrugged.

"Forgot."

Will's blood boiled.

"I think it would be in your best interest if you stayed away from her and her family," Will said coolly.

"Really?" George asked dryly. "How so?"

William smiled sweetly.

"Use your imagination."

George smiled back at him. The unease was blatant in his eyes.

At that time, the waitress came back with a sandwich. George dropped all appearances of being uncomfortable, thanking her with a smile and a wink. She scurried away with a blush on her cheeks.

"I hate you."

Oops. He didn't mean for that to slip out.

George smiled again.

"The feeling's mutual, darlin'."

Will's business was done. With his message successfully conveyed, he left the place, thinking he probably would never set foot in it again.

* * *

**Disclaimer: I don't own Trix or Cookie Crisp, or anything. I don't even own Mrs. Bennet's brownie recipe. :C**

**(And Darcy's CEO that young because he's just that awesome.)  
**


	9. Day 16

**A/N-- EHMAHGAWD, GAIZ. It's, like, a new chapter. You thought this was dead, didn't you? It's okay if you did. I won't love you less for it. What had happened was, major writer's block. **

**Also, I hate parties. In real life, and I've discovered I hate writing about them. Too many characters to follow.**

**(Season Finale, guys! Longest chapter ever!)**

* * *

**Day 16**

"You're going to permanently crease your forehead if you don't stop frowning like that."

William glared at his cousin. Richard smirked back.

Richard had decided to join William for the last week of his vacation. Charles hadn't minded—all three of them were thick as thieves, and had been since they were children. Charles had no trouble extending the famous Netherfield hospitality toward someone as close as he was. This had given him ample time to be brought up to speed on Will's situation.

Richard had expressed great amusement when first introduced to Will's floating friend, but nonetheless understood the seriousness of the problem. He knew his cousin was uncomfortable when presented with emotional problems or displays—and, unfortunately, this heart happened to fall into both categories.

"Put your tie on and quit worrying," Rich said with a roll of the eyes. He grinned roguishly. "I'm sure your date won't be able to keep her hands off you!"

William groaned.

The 'date' in question was none other than Miss Caroline Bingley herself. Somehow she'd managed to convince him to escort her to the party, whatever that meant. He thought the term 'escort' wasn't exactly appropriate; where, exactly would he 'escort' her, if the party would take place in the house they currently resided? She had also said something about hosts, hosting duties, and since the other host was her brother, she couldn't exactly align herself with him, now, could she?

But he'd been checking in and out at this point, so he couldn't be sure of what she said exactly.

He did remember that she called him a 'demihost.' He wasn't sure where or how she got the terminology, but she declared that since he was practically living with them, he was as good as a host, if unofficial, and therefore eligible—nay, _preferred_—to be presented on her am.

Or something.

"I'm not worried about _her._" William paused. "Well, in a sense, I am. But—"

"I know, I know. Just wear your hat, try not to look like an idiot, and you'll be fine."

"That _really_ helps."

"You're welcome!"

As mentioned by Richard, William had come up with a solution to his little candied problem—a top hat. It was a formal gathering, and therefore top hats were acceptable—but he didn't know how many other fellows would be wearing them. Not wanting to be the only one, he convinced Richard and Charles to wear them, too.

Along a similar vein, Charles had thought it would be a grand idea to go all out, wearing white gloves, and carrying sleek, black, silver-tipped walking sticks. Richard liked the notion and Will didn't mind, so it was done.

William had just finished pulling on his glove when Charles stuck his head into the room.

"You guys ready?" he asked, looking from man to man. Will nodded and Charles stepped inside.

"Well!" Richard exclaimed with a grin, twirling his cane. "Aren't _we_ a dashing lot! We're going to have to beat the ladies off with sticks, boys; no one can resist a classic gentleman!"

Charles laughed and Will rolled his eyes, adjusting his top hat. Well, they _did_ look rather spiffy. Richard had at least gotten one thing right.

"Come on," Charles said. "I just saw the first guests coming up the driveway. Will," he turned to the one being addressed, "as official demihost, you have to come greet them with me."

"Alright, now, tell me," Will began, following Charles out of the room. Richard trailed close behind. "Who came up with that word? Was it you or Caroline?"

Instead of answering, Charles nodded down the hallway.

"Speaking of Caroline…"

They spotted her down the hall. She hurried to catch up with them, taking short, quick half-steps in her silver dress and matching heels.

"_There_ you are, Wills!" she exclaimed, finally reaching them and latching onto William's arm. "You look positively _dashing!_"

Will shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot.

"Thank you," he said stiffly. "You look nice, too."

The shift in Carline's smile was nearly imperceptible, but nonetheless was detected by William. He nearly winced. That was a stupid thing to say. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Richard smiled winningly at the Bingley Miss.

"Indeed, Caroline, you look _stunning._"

She threw him a withering glance before remembering her manners. She smiled at him, but it came off more like a bearing of the teeth.

"Thank you, Richard," she said with a distinct chill in her voice. Wanting to get away from him as quickly as possible, she disengaged herself from Mr. Darcy's arm.

"Come, Charles. I need to speak with you."

She dragged her confused brother ahead a few good paces, putting them at a neat distance from Will and Richard.

Richard was beside himself with mirth. Caroline had never liked him, for some reason. He loved to provoke her.

He turned to his cousin.

"Remember when I said try not to look like an idiot?" He lifted his brows. "I think you should try a little harder."

Will gave him a shove that couldn't exactly be called playful, but couldn't be called hostile, either.

* * *

He didn't see them.

The party had been going on for half an hour, and most of the guests had arrived in time. But, because life liked to mess with him, William did not see the Bennet party.

_Anywhere._

It would not be hard to find them as a whole at a social gathering—he had learned that much on their first meeting. Between the mother and the two youngest, so much commotion was caused that it would take effort _not _to notice them. Of course, if one put forth effort _to_ not notice them, they would, in fact, be noticing them and reacting.

Therefore it was quite impossible not to notice them.

Will actively sought them out.

And he could not find them.

"So where is your sweetheart?"

Will jumped at the sound of Richard's voice. His cousin had appeared out of thin air behind him and nearly scared Will out of his skin.

"She's not my _sweetheart_," Will protested, resisting the urge to hit Richard over the head with his walking stick.

"Right," Rich agreed. "I'm sorry. How could I possibly have come to _that_ conclusion?"

The two bachelors watched as the multitudes of small cliques amused themselves. Soft, nondescript music tinkled from the room's walls. The music proved to be irritating to Will, but he found that he could ignore it. It was like elevator music, or the music played in department stores—solely present for the purpose of filling empty silence.

"Will, darling, _there_ you are!" a voice shouted, cutting through his thoughts. He turned and smiled slightly, governed by politeness. Caroline fast approached him, two people following at a more sedate pace. He raised a questioning brow at her.

She smiled widely. It was blatantly insincere.

"William, I'd like you to meet my fellow voice student and her _fiancé_."

Will pondered why she could have stressed that last word—why she was bothering to introduce them, really, since it was obvious she didn't like them. Caroline continued on, ignorant to Will's internal progression of thought.

"William, this is Christine and her fiancé, Raoul." No last names. Interesting. "Christine, Raoul, this is my _good_ friend William Darcy, C.E.O. of Pemberley Enterprises."

The way she purred when she said his name disturbed him. He brushed this aside, however, and tried to be as polite as possible. Christine seemed nice enough, but gave off the impression she was nervous to be there. Will wanted to attribute it to a tenuous relationship with the hostess, but no, it didn't seem that way. At least not entirely. Raoul was a confident young man proving to be quite amiable, and soon they actually struck up a meaningful conversation. Will found out that he was actually a big name in the business world, too. Raoul's father was the head of Viscount Industries, and he was training to take on the role when his father retired.

They had just gotten into a spirited discussion about the alarming state of the nation's economy when Richard nudged William to get his attention.

"What?" Will asked, his irritation plain.

"I think your sweetheart just got here."

"What?"

Will turned, and yes, there she was. The heart beneath his hat quivered.

"How'd you know it was her?" he asked, trying to disguise his natural reactions to seeing her. Richard smiled and shrugged.

"Good guess. So you gonna introduce me, or what?" He started moving toward her. He stopped and whistled. "She's a looker! You've been holding out on me, Will!"

"Rich, wait!" William apologized to his new acquaintances and declared he must be going for the time being. Caroline saw this as an opportunity to break away from the engaged couple and added that she had to leave to greet more guests, as well. When William turned and started moving toward his cousin, Elizabeth's family decided to materialize around her. Her mother then decided to be vocal.

"Oh, _look_ at all this!" she shouted. "Such _finery! _Such _company!_ Oh, Mr. Bennet, _look!_ I think that's the _mayor!_"

Richard looked back at Will, a grin splitting his face in two.

"The infamous mother?"

Will nodded and caught up.

"Well, come on, then," Rich said. "I still want to meet her, and I'd prefer to do it now."

Will decided he didn't like the way Richard was looking at Lizzy. He'd seen the same look on his face whenever Richard spotted a new bit of fun. Not that Richard was a rake—no, Will wouldn't do him that injustice.

He just liked to flirt.

'Harmless fun,' he called it.

William had never reacted to this character trait with anything more than exasperation in the past, but now—now was an altogether different matter.

He did not like it, not one bit.

"Elizabeth!" he called, finally coming within earshot of the woman. She turned at the sound of her name.

Will's throat went dry.

She was wearing a simple black dress. It had nothing on some of the other gowns worn by some of the other female guests, but it looked—it—looked—very—good—on—her—very—very—good, he—he thought—good—yes—

Richard clapped him on the back, as if to remind him that gawking would be considered 'making himself look like an idiot,' nearly sending Will's hat tumbling off his head.

"I'm sorry," Richard apologized with a smile, "my cousin has always had a hard time speaking to attractive women."

Lizzy raised her brows, as if she couldn't believe the audacity of this saucy new stranger.

"I thought you wanted an introduction," Will said, straightening out his hat and leveling a glare at Richard. The offender clasped his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels, doing his best good-boy impression.

"Yes, please."

William rolled his eyes.

"Elizabeth, this is my _insufferable_ cousin, Richard. Richard—," he paused, not quite knowing how to describe her, "—Elizabeth Bennet."

Richard smiled widely.

"Richard Fitzwilliam, at your service, Miss Bennet," he said with an obnoxiously low bow. When he rose, he saw she was smiling. She curtsied daintily.

"Please, call me Lizzy, Mr. Fitzwilliam," she beseeched.

"I would be delighted. You must call me Richard, then. Or," the gleam in his eyes turned impish, "if you prefer, any sort of endearment you can come up with will suffice."

"Hm…" She tapped her chin and tilted her head, making show of her intent thought process. "How about 'cheeky?'"

"Perfectly fitting! I like it immensely." He turned to Will. "I believe I like your Lizzy." He nodded. "Yes, it's decided." He turned back to Elizabeth. "I'm afraid you're stuck with me now."

"I think I can manage."

"Are you sure? I'm told I'm _insufferable_." Richard winked at Darcy.

"Well, you're in good company, then! I've been told the same." Lizzy smiled, Richard smiled, William did not smile.

William had always envied Richard one thing—his ability to converse easily with strangers. Seeing him interact so well with Elizabeth, only knowing her for all of five minutes, stirred resentment within him. He was jealous.

Of Richard's conversational skills, that is.

Not—not the_ other_ kind of jealous.

Because that would be ridiculous.

Completely and utterly absurd.

Right?

Right.

They were talking about something. He heard his name. He supposed he should probably be listening.

"—'ve heard a lot about you. Will hasn't _shut up_ since I got here."

Now _that_ was a blatant falsehood. William had actually been stubbornly tight-lipped about 'his Lizzy.' Why was Richard trying to embarrass him?

"Don't believe any of it." Lizzy's frank, wry comment caught Will off guard. Not Richard, though. Nothing caught Richard off guard.

"Why not? He's done nothing but sing your praises."

She gave an unladylike snort.

"_Right! _I find it hard to imagine _Mr. Darcy_ would sing my praises."

"Oh, but he does! In particular, he seems to enjoy describing, in great detail, a certain pair of _fine eyes…_"

William was appalled. How could his cousin humiliate him like that?

He felt a certain pair of _fine eyes_ on him. Against his will, his face flooded with color. He tried his best not to look as embarrassed as he felt.

"Rich, I just remembered—I have to tell you something," Will said.

Richard waited patiently.

"In _private_."

"Oh. Alright." He turned to Lizzy. "I'm sorry. Can you excuse us for a moment? This appears urgent."

She graciously allowed the men to step away to have their tête-à-tête. Darcy made sure they were out of earshot before he began.

"_What_ are you _doing?_" William's terse whisper cut through the air like a throwing star. Richard appeared affronted.

"I'm not doing anything!" he defended. "What do you think I'm doing?"

"Don't be difficult, Richard. You know exactly what you're doing. How do you expect me to not look like an idiot when you're making me look like an idiot?"

"I'm not making you look like an idiot. I'm helping you out!"

"How do you figure?"

"I have my ways, Will. You and I, we operate differently. You can't expect to always understand me and my methods. Just trust me, okay?"

Will's jaw clenched. After a moment, he sighed.

"Fine. But could you maybe go about it differently? Just a bit?"

Rich rolled his eyes.

"Fine. I'll try not to flaunt your deepest darkest secrets in front of the girl. If things get too uncomfortable, you just signal me or something, alright?"

Will nodded. With that, they moved to rejoin her. Upon arrival, though, Will declared he needed to attend to something very important; would they be so kind as to excuse him?

"Does it have something to do with what you guys were just talking about?" Lizzy asked.

Will hesitated.

"Yes," he declared firmly. He decided to let Richard do whatever he was trying to do alone. He didn't need to witness all of it, and something told him he probably wouldn't want to. He could get filled in on the important things later, whatever that would be.

With that in mind, he turned and walked away.

* * *

William Darcy did not like parties for two reasons. At parties, one is expected to socialize. He could really do without that; he was content with his circle of friends, thank you very much, and really, who _needed_ to constantly expand the number of his or her associates? He figured it would be exceptionally disastrous for him, he would never remember their names or what to say to them, etc., etc., and so forth.

Secondly—typically at parties, it is mandatory that one dances. Well, perhaps not _mandatory_, per se, but it is a general rule. If one does not dance, one usually gets called out on it. William like to draw as little attention to himself as possible, but he detested dancing in public.

Then, he saw Elizabeth Bennet in her very (_very_) becoming dress and he promptly forgot all of this. He got it in his head that it would be a wonderful experience to socialize and dance with said woman. Unfortunately, before his highly appealing thought became fruit-bearing action, he was accosted by his date.

Oh, right.

"Will, darling, where have you been?" she asked, wrapping a hand around his arm in a way he rather did not care for. "I take my eyes off you for _one second_ and you disappear." She shook her head tragically, and he suddenly felt like a child being disciplined by his mother. "Well, at least I found you before dinner. It would have been un_bear_able if I had to walk into the dining room _alone_."

He made what he intended to be a noncommittal noise, but it came out tinged with regret. He watched as Richard approached Elizabeth, two drinks in hand, and readily struck up a conversation. Caroline took his reaction as one of genuine displeasure at such a prospect she would have faced.

A dainty bell sounded, catching Will unawares. It was a thin, tinkling sound, one that should not have been audible above the incessant, insect-like chatter coming from those invited. At once, everyone quieted in confusion.

"Oh!" Caroline exclaimed lightly. "Looks like it's time for dinner!" She looked up at William. "I hope you didn't fill up on hors d'oeuvres!"

William looked in envy upon Richard as he bowed to Elizabeth and then held out his arm to her. She accepted it gracefully. They began to make their way to the dining room adjacent to the ballroom, but not before Richard tossed a quick wink over to his cousin.

William refrained from going to the nearest wall and banging his head against it. At an assembly such as this, it would be unseemly.

* * *

Alright.

He had danced once with Caroline. That should suffice for the evening.

He sat down at one of the many tables stationed at the fringes of the ballroom and sighed. He really felt like running a hand through his hair, but to do that, he would have to take his hat off. He rubbed his forehead in frustration.

Richard rolled up in front of him. He pulled a chair out for himself and sat. Completely disregarding all decorum and politeness, he rested his elbows on the table and leaned forward.

"You okay, Will?" he asked, cocking his head to the side. Will shrugged in mild annoyance.

"Fine," he answered. "Where've you been all this time?"

"Oh, you know, here and there."

William stared steadily at him.

"I've been making new friends, Will," Richard continued. "Me and Lizzy are already BFFs, so she introduced me to some people she knows."

"Did you just say you're BFFs?"

"Plus I've been making some rounds, chatting, charming, and all that jazz." He waved his hand dismissively. "You know."

"You always were the party boy."

"Please," Richard snorted. "This isn't a party. It's a _social gathering_."

Will cracked a smile. It was true—this was _not_ the sort of party Richard regularly went to.

Rich looked around.

"Where's Caroline?" he asked, his eyes roving about the sea of faces within the ballroom. Will shook his head.

"I don't know. She keeps disappearing. I guess to talk to everyone and perform 'hostly duties.' Turns out she's a really bad date."

"Well, that was unexpected." Richard opened his mouth as if to say something else, only to glance above Will's shoulder. He smiled and waved. Will looked back.

"Well, well!" Richard said. "Haven't seen you in ages."

"I know, right?" Elizabeth Bennet responded. "How've you been since we last met?"

"Eh." Richard shrugged.

Lizzy smiled and then greeted Darcy.

It was at this moment that the background music decided to change. They all looked up at the ceiling as if to see the difference in music. Lizzy's smile widened as she recognized the tune.

"I love this song!" she professed. It seemed to be an instrumental version of a song they were all familiar with—a stark contrast to the 'culture' they had just been subjected to.

William did the most radical thing.

He spoke without thinking.

"Would you like to dance?" When the words were out of his mouth, he wanted to take them back. Only, he didn't want to take them back at all. He was suddenly very nervous. He'd probably kick himself for this a thousand times before the night was out.

"Ah!" Richard exclaimed. "Beat me to the punch."

"Oh," Lizzy said, masking her surprise with a smile, "it's alright."

Richard taunted her with a smile of his own.

"Are you sure?" he asked. "This is a singular occasion. Darcy doesn't dance."

"Oh, well, if you don't want to, it's fine, I guess," William assured her, feeling a blush creeping up his collar into his cheeks.

"Ah, come on!" Rich goaded. "You guys are no fun."

As if rehearsed, they both looked at him and quirked corresponding eyebrows. This made him laugh aloud, which only made their brows slide higher.

"Really, now?" Lizzy returned flatly. William glanced at her and swallowed apprehensively. In a surprisingly calm voice, he risked saying, "Well, it can't hurt, right?"

Lizzy glanced between the two men and resisted rolling her eyes. Instead, she shrugged.

"Alright."

"_Yessssss!_" Richard pumped an exultant fist.

"Why are you so happy about this?" Lizzy asked as Darcy stood. Rich's eyes sparkled, but his answer did not explain any of the mischievousness present in them.

"This golden opportunity has presented itself now, and I would be greatly disappointed if it were wasted. Will doesn't dance half as much as he should."

William rolled his eyes.

"Yes, because dancing is essential to my wellbeing," he said facetiously.

"It is!" Richard exclaimed. "Ah, but enough talking! We're wasting time. Go, go, shoo! Off with you." He made shooing motions with his hands. The two left the table both amused and faintly exasperated.

Once safely on the dance floor, the two easily slid into a waltz, as the beat of the music dictated. William was beginning to have doubts about the wisdom of his decision; he was feeling decidedly awkward, and the fact that he was hyperaware of his partner did nothing to make things easier for him. He did not maintain eye contact for long, for fear the admiration he felt for her would be evident in his eyes.

Apparently, Elizabeth did not care for his distant manner.

"So, usually, when two people dance, they tend to look at each other. You know, acknowledge the other's existence."

"Oh! Um. I'm sorry," Will apologized. "I… was thinking."

He would have allowed his mind to whisper to itself, '_about you_,' but that would be incredibly sappy and cliché, and he detested sappiness and clichés. Just the thought of that thought made him want to twist his face up in disgust.

But he didn't, because Lizzy was there, and that would look odd to her. She didn't know what he was thinking, after all (thank goodness), and he couldn't rightly _tell_ her what he was thinking. That would make things even _more_ awkward.

So, despite his fears, he looked down and a series of events occurred in rapid succession.

First, he once again noticed how remarkably fine Elizabeth's eyes were. Although not being of an artistic disposition, he wondered at how such eyes as hers would be taken in paint. He surmised that, although the shape and the color might be replicated, he could not think the artist could capture the intelligence that rendered them uncommonly beautiful. He found himself arrested by those eyes, and he could not bring himself to look away.

Then, he took in the graceful curve of her cheek, imagining the feel of her soft skin within his cupped hand, and fancied it would fit perfectly in his palm.

With great might, he resisted kissing her. He knew he was probably giving himself away, but at that moment, he couldn't find himself to care. It was then that he knew—that was it.

He was a goner.

And finally, he stopped denying the existence of the heart above his head.

"So," Elizabeth said, tearing him from his reverie, "how is your sister?"

Ah. Small talk. How romantic. At least it was a subject he was comfortable with. He smiled.

"She's doing well, he answered, twirling her skillfully. "In fact, I just got an email from her last night."

That email had been a 'normal life update,' as she called it—there was a particular test she thought she failed (but probably didn't—she underestimated herself far too often), local news (a codeword for gossip), and a paragraph about how Po-po (Napoleon), their (her) dog (monster) had nearly caught a rabbit while taking a walk yesterday morning. And then, there was the second half—about her soon-to-be sister-in-law (her words, not his), Elizabeth. She had been extracting information about the mysterious maiden little by little over the past few weeks, and thought it her duty to tease Will and inquire about her as much as possible. In this installment, she had expressed a desire to meet the famous Dizzy Miss Lizzy.

"She wants to meet me?"

What? Did he actually say that out _loud?_

Oh, Lord.

Deciding that he would just play it off (because although he was somewhat sure he only mentioned Georgie's wish to meet Lizzy, he did not know if his wording was… _appropriate_), he let himself show a small smile.

"Yeah." He would have shrugged if the dance allowed it. "She basically demanded that I make some friends before I left, and so she wanted to know about who I met and all. She thinks you're interesting."

"Oh, does she?" Elizabeth asked with a cryptic smile. "I'm sorry for that."

"For what?" Darcy asked in surprise.

"I can't begin to imagine what you've told that poor girl."

"Well, whatever it was, it must have been _interesting_ enough for her to want to meet you."

"_Interesting_ is a very debatable word, _Mr. Darcy_."

"She says she thinks you two could be good friends, so apparently it was _interesting_ in a good way."

"Ah! That bit of information changes everything. You must've lied terribly in my behalf, in which case, if she met me, she'd be greatly disappointed."

"What? Now _why_ would you say that?" he asked with a smile.

"Because I am a wild, stubborn person who would be a terrible influence on her."

"You flatter yourself."

They twirled on the floor, the conversation ceased, and Darcy noticing hardly anything but the woman in his arms, so transfixed was he. It truly was like gliding on air—it seemed like those torturous years of dance lessons finally paid off. He was swept up in all things Elizabeth—the way she expertly placed her feet in all the right spots at all the right times, the way her eyes reflected the lights around them, the way her mouth curved into a gentle smile in enjoyment of the waltz.

And then, as if he had blacked out for a few seconds, he found himself standing at the table where Richard sat. Richard was saying something, laughing, but Darcy didn't hear. His mind was still in a daze, half there, half still out on the dance floor, holding Elizabeth and moving in time with the music.

He did not consciously make the decision to tell her his feelings, no. He was not aware of this new, subconscious resolve. He only felt a strange compelling force within him, making him want to say something, but leaving him at a loss for words.

* * *

William had consumed several glasses of champagne.

Mr. Darcy was not a heavy drinker. In fact, Richard, on many occasions, had called him a lightweight, and maybe that was true.

But certainly a few glasses of champagne would not get him _drunk_. No, of course not. He merely felt… looser. More casual. Less inhibited.

It was just as well.

He no longer had trouble speaking to people. He figured it was because he thought less when alcohol was in his system, and so he didn't—couldn't—remember every hang-up he had about speaking to strangers.

It was as Charles was waving him over to meet someone that he saw her through the window. He didn't know why she was outside—it was rather cold out, the weather having finally caught up to them, and from what he could see, no one else was out there.

Then again, that might be the reason she was outside.

He looked from Charles to Elizabeth and back again. Will shook his head at his friend and pointed out the window to where Lizzy was standing. Charles looked over. He grinned, giving Will a thumbs-up, and resumed conversation with whomever was standing next to him.

William made his way to a door at the far end of the room, his tread firm and confident. He was out the door for no less than a second when the full force of the cold hit him—it had to be at least freezing, if not below that. Perhaps he should have brought his overcoat.

He spotted Lizzy a ways off and began to walk to her, little white puffs of breath forming a trail behind him. She leaned against the railing separating the area near the house from the rest of the grounds, looking up at the moon.

"What are you doing out here in the cold?" he called out. She turned, startled. Once she recognized him, she turned back.

"I just needed some fresh air," she answered indifferently. He caught up to her and leaned on the rail beside her.

"It is a bit stuffy in there, isn't it?"

She snorted.

"You have no idea."

"Of course I do. I was just in there," he stated matter-of-factly. She glanced at him and rolled her eyes, giving a small half-smile.

"So how are you enjoying the party so far?" he asked. "You know, besides the stuffiness."

She shrugged.

"It's very… elegant. Elegance isn't really my thing."

Elegance seemed very much her thing at the moment, Darcy thought. He had enough sense not to say this, however. Instead, he smiled at her.

"You might not think it," he said, "but elegance isn't really my thing, either."

She regarded him curiously.

"You know," she admitted, "if you would have told me that when we first met, I wouldn't have believed you. But now I guess I can see it."

"Really? What changed your mind?"

"Maybe the fact that you play video games like a teenager."

William laughed. He didn't realize it, but it was the first time he'd done so in her presence.

"I _live_ with a teenager! What do you expect?"

"A teenage _girl!_"

"You have no idea what a gamer Georgie is."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. You know, I think you two would get along really well."

She gazed at him with some surprise.

"Really?"

"Oh, yeah. I'm not surprised she wants to meet you. You seem a bit surprised, though. Why is that?"

"Oh…" Lizzy shrugged stiffly. Darcy wasn't sure if this was due to a change in mood or to the cold. "I just feel as though we operate on different levels. Everyone's always singing her praises, talking about how accomplished she is and everything. Why would she want the company of someone so inferior?"

Darcy couldn't read the tone of her voice. It was weighty, but maybe his interpretation skills were hindered by the alcohol.

"Elizabeth, you are no one's inferior."

The resulting shock and slight confusion on her face made Will realize how that might've sounded to her. And, too late, he remembered that she was one who frequently expressed opinions that were not her own. He was kicking himself for saying it, and was about to move on to being embarrassed when he decided, no. He said it, and it was true, so why should he be embarrassed?

"In fact," he pressed boldly onward, hardly knowing what he was doing, "you're one of the least inferior women I know."

Well, that didn't come out like he'd hoped.

"What I mean to say is—I—uh…" Here he grew flustered. This always seemed to happen around her. He could never find the right things to say, and when he did speak, it usually came out terribly wrong. It seemed that alcohol had done nothing for him in this case.

"Haven't you ever wondered why I've always been wearing a hat? Since your last visit when Jane was sick, I mean?" he asked abruptly, putting his hands in his pockets so she wouldn't see them shake. Her countenance grew more mystified.

"I have noticed it, but haven't given it much thought," she answered. "Why?"

"Because…" He swallowed and would not look at her. "Because I've been hiding. From everyone. Most of all you."

"I don't understand."

In one swift motion (_take it like a Band-Aid)_, he closed his eyes and lifted the top hat off his head. Lizzy was silent. He took a breath and opened his eyes.

She was staring at him in astonishment.

Her eyes asked the question her lips could not form. He answered unhappily.

No, unhappily was the wrong word. He was nervous, to be sure, but there was also a rush of excitement that mingled with dread and relief at finally being able to reveal his secret.

"I… have this—" he motioned to the heart above his head, "—because of you. I didn't want anyone to know about it because it's kind of ridiculous that this is my first time being in—having feelings for someone, and, well, I… I figured it would never work, so I wanted to keep it as under control as possible so I wouldn't get hurt. Which is kind of selfish if you think about it—actually, it's kind of selfish to assume it's selfish… uhm…"

He was floundering, and it felt terrible. She'd yet to say anything, which he hoped was a good sign, but feared it wasn't. Well, it was too late to turn back. He might as well continue on.

Then again, that might make the situation worse.

Or (aha!), it might make it better.

Optimism, so long denied acceptance by Mr. Darcy, won out.

"Alright, let me start from the beginning. Rewind." He took a steadying breath. "I… like you."

He _liked_ her? What, was he in fifth grade? Then he remembered the whole regression issue was pretty much a moot point by then.

"I've liked you for a while now," he continued. "I didn't want to like you, because I thought that a relationship between us wouldn't work, because…" He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Because of what people would think and say."

"What would people think and say?" Her tone was undecipherable, but at least she was talking, right? That had to be a good thing… right?

"Well…" His brow furrowed as he said, almost guiltily, "I sort of _am_ the C.E.O. of a very large, highly successful business. It's not like people would ignore it if I got into a relationship. They would be surprised if they found out I was with someone like you, and they would say… _things_."

He thought he handled that pretty well. Unfortunately, the suppressed anger in Lizzy's eyes told him otherwise.

"Someone like _me_?" she repeated testily. "I understand completely. We wouldn't want to have _someone like me_ tarnishing your _brilliant_ reputation, now, would we?"

Will was taken aback by her reaction. She had completely misunderstood him. He'd meant he didn't want her getting hurt by what the tabloids—and certain members of his circle, for that matter—could and would say. That was a vicious lot, to be sure, and he knew how nasty they could get when presented with any sort of juicy gossip.

"What? No, that's not—"

"Oh, it's alright," she continued heatedly. "Because you were right on one account. It could never work. How could I possibly bring myself to return the feelings of a man who has—has—so _wronged_ someone who was practically a _brother_ to him?"

Instantly, all the color drained from Will's face. In a quiet, controlled way, he inferred, "You're talking about George Wickham, aren't you?"

Elizabeth sneered. It looked completely, terribly wrong on her face.

"My, aren't you the bright one!"

"Are you _mocking_ me?" he asked with incredulity.

He was not prepared for this. He had hoped for a pleasant reaction, steeled himself for a let-down, but _this—_nothing like _this _had ever crossed his mind. This was completely unexpected. Usually he could deal with unexpected.

But this was _Elizabeth_.

He'd seen her amused, annoyed, happy, concerned, piqued—but this was something he never thought he'd see. It was utterly surreal.

"Perhaps I should retract my statement," she said humorlessly.

"My God! What kind of lies has he told you?" What could Wickham have possibly said to make her react so violently towards him?

"Lies! He told me no lies, only the misfortunes he's had to endure by _your_ hand!"

"Misfortunes!" Darcy's anger was beginning to stir. "Oh, yes, his misfortunes have been _great_, indeed."

"And you treat his plight with sarcasm!" she cried. "Have you no heart?"

William smiled bitterly.

"I think that's pretty apparent," he retorted with palpable self-depreciation, "seeing as how it's in plain sight."

Her countenance changed for a split second with something that almost looked like conscience. It was only for a moment, though.

"Well, at least now I know how you really feel about me. I'm sorry to have taken up your time," he concluded.

He turned around and stalked off. Once inside the ballroom, hundreds of eyes turned to face him. He then realized his conversation with Elizabeth had been in plain sight and not one single person present in that ballroom had missed it. His face flooded with anger. He was far past being embarrassed.

He made his way steadily to the exit. As soon as the doors closed behind him, a cacophony of murmurs filled the ballroom and he broke out into a run.

He ran to his room, where he winced and cringed a thousand times over at his own inability to communicate. After that, the proceeded to curse Wickham's existence and influence and ability to smooth-talk everyone.

But maybe this altercation was for the best.

He was leaving in the morning, anyway.


	10. Day 17

**A/N— :| ****I feel this chapter is a bit awkward. What say you?**

**

* * *

**

**Day 17**

William gazed impassively at his luggage. The bags under his eyes felt just about as heavy as his heart. He sighed and rubbed his face, trying to will some energy back into his features.

He'd been up all night writing. Sometime after The Incident, he had composed himself enough to decide that if nothing else, Elizabeth deserved to know the truth—the truth about Wickham, if nothing more. He'd debated on whether he should tell her what he'd really meant to say to her (because writing had always come easier to him than speaking, and it would have given him time to reword his thoughts), but he decided against it. She'd made it clear she wanted nothing to do with his feelings, so he made sure nothing born from his confused, chaotic emotional state touched the page.

The end result was a letter that he felt would explain everything. It would expose Wickham for what he really was, and she would then know to stay away from him. That was all he wanted.

He hoped a great deal that it would work.

The letter was on this desk at that very moment, unfolded and silent in somber anticipation. He gathered the sheaves and was about to fold them back up when the first word caught his eye. He sat down and started to reread it. The words seemed to blend together at this point.

_Elizabeth, _it began. He'd had a hard time getting the greeting out. Seeing '_Dear Elizabeth_' had caused him quite a bit of pain, and discouraged him from writing for a long while.

_I would like to begin by saying that this is not a repetition of what I said—or what I wished to say—last night. You made your feelings about that matter quite clear; I believe the matter can be put to rest without any ill-feeling on either of our parts. I simply wish to clear the air about a certain accusation you flung at me in the midst of our conversation—that which dealt with a certain George Wickham, of whom you are acquainted. You said that I had wronged him, even though he was like a brother to me. I have no idea what George has told you, so I suppose I must relay to you the whole of our relationship. Some of this may sound familiar, as half-truths are George's specialty, but I am certain at one point our stories will veer widely apart._

_The George Wickham you know is the son of the late George Wickham Sr., an admirable man whom my father called friend. My father was very close to Mr. Wickham, and had been since his university days; it was only natural that when George was born, he was given the title of godfather to the boy. George was charming as a boy, and my father was very fond of him. This charm never left him as he grew older, but it turned from an innocent sort to one that was used to beguile and deceive. As we grew up together, I began to notice some troubling personality traits in him that naturally made me want to distance myself from him. He seemed not to care. He went about his business with his unsavory group of friends, and I went about mine. He tried to hide his mean pranks from me, but only half-heartedly; it was my father that was never allowed to know. At present I will not discuss this in great detail; I doubt this childish mischief—which was quite mean-spirited, even if it was juvenile—would convince you of his true character._

_By the age of eighteen or so, George took a turn for the worse. He had a fondness for cards, and would often go to a friend's to "study" and turn up the next day flat broke. He began siphoning money from both his father and mine. He was very clever about it, though, so as to never arouse suspicion in either of them. I noticed, but said nothing because I feared they would be hurt. It wasn't as if we were hurting for money, either. I tried to straighten George out myself, but he would not listen to me. He felt himself quite my equal in terms of fortune—both material and otherwise—and knew that as long as he stayed in my father's good books, he would be able to live the life of indulgence he so wanted. I think I've left out that Mr. Wickham and my own father were in completely different professions; my father was a business man, as you can surmise, while Mr. Wickham was a political science teacher at a local college. His father had not as much to give as mine, and so was of a lesser importance. _

_When Mr. Wickham died about ten years ago, we were all devastated. His father's death didn't sober George up—both literally and figuratively—instead, it gave him an excuse to completely lose himself in the world he'd only dabbled in up until that point. _

_In time, my father, too, died. His last words were such that urged me to help George out in the realm of finance. He'd created a position at the firm that could be made available to George. I honored my father's wish, despite my own private reservations, but it turned out George didn't want the job. It was just as well. He would not do well in an office, and he can be a destructive creature when bored—his refusal spared me much future anxiety. Instead, he said he wanted a sum of money that he could live off until he found a job more to his liking. I gave him the money and he disappeared. I did not try to find him._

_Now, for the worst of it. It pains me to write this, but it must be done._

_My sister, Georgiana, is very dear to me. She has always been rather shy around strangers, and so it is quite difficult for her to make friends. When she does, though, there could be no truer friend than she; she is extremely loyal, and thus—although whether wittingly or not, I can't say—expects the same loyalty in return._

_George Wickham had, unfortunately, been a major fixture in her life when she was younger. She looked up to him as she looked up to me; he was an elder brother figure of sorts to her. He was always his most charming with her, and so it was no wonder she became attached to him. I believe that for a period, George really did care for her, but whatever affection he had waned as she grew older. Eventually, he viewed her as he viewed both myself and my father—as a means of income, and nothing more. He convinced her to give him some money from her allowance—not as a fixed thing, mind you, but with well placed simpering and flattery here and there. When my father died, I severed all ties with George, as I mentioned before. I had thought that he'd disappeared and would finally be out of our hair, but I was wrong. He'd kept contact with Georgie and still received an allowance of his own from her. When I found out, I was outraged and demanded she cut him off immediately. She'd felt something wrong with the institution, so she complied without protest—indeed, she was relieved to have everything out in the open and to have the affair over with._

_George, however, was not happy with this. _

_An opportune time had arisen for George to strike—this was two years ago, when Georgie was sixteen, and we had just recently settled into our new home and Georgie hadn't yet begun school. George crafted a website about our family filled with malicious lies about me, and my late farther whose dying words had been filled with concern for his wellbeing—but it was targeted mainly on my sister. Pages and pages were written about her—true secrets, appalling lies, and crudely edited photos. Right around the time the school year started, he hung around her campus and spread word about the site. It wasn't long before everyone had heard about it and most had visited it. _

_Georgie had an uncommonly hard time making friends there, and was absolutely confounded as to why, as was I. Days turned into weeks, and although she put on a brave front, I knew she was hurting inside. Finally, one day, she came home from school crying. Alarmed, I'd asked her what was the matter; she told me she had been outright bullied by a group of girls at lunch. She said they had said the most horrendous things about her, and had even presented her with an embarrassing secret she had harbored for some time. She'd run to the bathroom and hid in a stall, only to overhear a few other girls enter, talking about the website. When she finished telling me this, we both sat down and looked the site up._

_We were horrified at what we saw. _

_Georgie full out sobbed, and I don't blame her. I was enraged beyond belief that someone could be so malevolent to do something like this. There are tabloids in which we appear. Rumors abound about us that are both ridiculous and wounding. But this—this was vile. It used private photos of us, taken by family and friends, pictures that could never have been leaked to the press. It gave accounts of private instances that only someone connected to us could have known about. It had stated accurate facts amidst the slew of mistruths. There was only one person who could have done this, but it seemed low even for him. To make sure, I tracked down the IP address and contacted the owner of the computer from which the website originated. Sure enough, it was George. In my anger, I yelled at him, threatened him, cursed profusely. For the first time in his life, George was somewhat afraid of me. I managed to gain ownership of the site and immediately shut it down. As for George, he disappeared and hasn't reemerged until now._

_Eventually, word got out that the site was false, but the damage was done. Georgie's reputation was forever marred. Those who believed her pitied her, but did not associate with her because of how it would reflect on them. Those who disliked her continued to dislike her, or regarded her with indifference, and those who shunned her continued to shun her so as to not admit being wrong. Luckily, though, teens have short attention spans. They eventually either forgot about the incident or just didn't care anymore._

_Georgie did neither._

_She will always be affected by the incident. She used to be a trusting person, but that person is gone. Even though it's been nearly three years since this happened, she's still struggling with trust issues. If it was hard to get into her inner circle before, it's nearly impossible now._

_That is the end of the account. It can all be validated by my cousin Richard; he was a witness to all that happened, and he won't hesitate to give you any particulars I may have left out. I suppose I should say goodbye here; I have a feeling you will not accompany us to the airport in the morning, and I highly doubt I should run into you before we leave. So, goodbye, Elizabeth, and good day to you._

_Yours, William_

He thought the ending rather awkward, but there was no time to fix that now. His eyes quickly lost their focus and he blinked slowly. He couldn't remember being this exhausted in a long, long time.

"Ready to go?"

Will's head shot up. Charles gazed at him from the doorway with palpable concern. Or was it pity? He nearly seethed. He did not want _anyone's_ pity.

The flare of anger was powerful, but short-lived. Immediately after it abated, he was filled with a greater emptiness than he had felt previously.

He nodded silently and got up, folding the letter neatly into thirds. With steady, mechanical movements, he placed it in the envelope on his desk before sliding it into his pocket.

* * *

The ride to the airport had been tense. William was exhausted and still smarting from the blow he received the night before. Charles and Jane, who had joined them to see the two cousins off, had identical looks of unease on their faces. Charles periodically flicked his eyes to the rear-view mirror as he drove, glancing at Will for any sign of improvement. Jane looked to Charles in a similar manner for a signal of some sort. It made his mood positively beastly.

Richard, he knew, was concerned about him as well, but at least he had the decency not to show it.

At the airport, it was not much better. Charles attempted to lighten the mood, but all his jokes fell flat. Richard tried to help by laughing along and acting as if nothing had happened.

It had the opposite effect on Darcy.

At the boarding gate, they were forced to say their adieus.

"So, I guess this is goodbye, then," Charles said, singling Will out as Jane talked to Richard.

"I guess so," Darcy affirmed.

"You will come back to visit soon, won't you?" Charles asked anxiously. Darcy shrugged and forced a smile for his friend's sake.

"I don't know if it'll be soon," he answered, "but you know there's always an open invitation to my place for you."

Charles nodded.

"I might have to take you up on that sometime."

A trade-off was then made; Richard addressed Charles and William spoke to Jane.

"It's truly been a pleasure, Will," she said.

"Likewise."

"I hope you can come back. All of us here will miss you and your cousin."

He tried mightily to keep the self-depreciating sneer from his face. It wouldn't do; Jane would be offended. Still, he highly doubted that _everyone_ would miss him.

He looked away and they lapsed into a few moments of awkward silence. He pulled the letter from his pocket and held it out to her.

"Would you please," he said, flicking his eyes back to her, "give this to your sister?"

She took the envelope from his fingers and placed it in her own coat pocket, giving him a nod. He nodded as well and then checked the time.

"Richard." Mr. Fitzwilliam turned to face him. "We should get going now."

* * *

"Alright, so are you gonna talk, or what?"

William slid an eyelid open and gazed tiredly at his cousin. He closed it again.

"I'll take that as a no."

They were seated in the first class section of the airplane, with ample room to spread their legs and get comfortable.

Will, though, could not seem to get comfortable.

He desperately wanted to sleep, but he'd always found sleeping in airplanes difficult. And there was no use denying it. He probably couldn't sleep, even if he was in a proper bed. His mind was far too occupied.

"Will." There was no compassion in Richard Fitzwilliam's voice. "Will, look at me."

Suppressing the welling groan within his chest, he complied, although not happily. He let his black mood hit Richard full force. The victim was wholly unmoved by it.

"You look horrible. Did you get any sleep last night?"

"No," Will replied flatly, "which is why I'm trying to get some _now._"

"You won't be _able_ to now. I know you. And I know you hate pity, so I won't pity you. At least not to your face. But don't think you can bottle this up and put it on a shelf, Will."

"Who said I was going to?" he asked testily.

"Will. I _know_ you." Richard's expression was unfriendly and unwavering. "You internalize everything. That's not always the best way to handle things. Unless you learn how to deal with things appropriately, it's going to break you one day, and I'm not going to be there to pick up the pieces."

Will stared stubbornly at the back of the seat in front of him.

"Are you done?"

Richard frowned.

"For now."

William closed his eyes.

"Good, because I'm tired and severity does not suit you. You can go back to flirting with the flight attendant, now."

Richard sighed, but Will could not pinpoint the emotion behind the action. He shifted, trying to get into a comfortable position to sleep.

He remained wide awake for the entire flight.

* * *

"Will!"

As soon as he stepped into the house, he was engulfed in a crushing hug. He smiled for the first time in what seemed like an eternity.

"Hey, Georgie," he greeted, returning the hug. She beamed up at him, but her smile wilted when she took in his sorry appearance.

"You look terrible," she observed in surprised dismay. "What happened?"

"Well, thanks for the self-esteem boost," he said with a wry smile. "I had a long night, is all."

The events from the past twenty four hours passed through his mind. He grimaced. A long night, indeed.

"Oh?" He could discern she was still troubled. He assured her that he was fine, just had a bout of insomnia. He didn't want her to worry.

And, of course, he really did not feel like explaining everything.

She still looked concerned, but it was not of the pressing sort. She took hold of one of his bags and lifted it.

"Come on, Napoleon's missed you."

As if on cue, a loud bark echoed through the foyer, followed by a clattering of nails. The streak of brown, black, and white that was the giant Bernese Mountain Dog shot towards them, and upon reaching the masters of the house, bounded excitedly around them. He yipped excitedly, his tail a blur as it wagged erratically.

Will couldn't help but smile.

"So," Georgie began, drawing out the _o_ with the expectation of being pleased, "how was the party?"

At once, he was closed off to her. His tone when answering was stiff.

"Fine."

"Oh." She looked crestfallen. Then, she brightened a bit. "I forgot, you hate parties. Was it really that bad?"

"You have no idea."

She looked at him curiously.

"It couldn't have been _that_ bad. I mean, you had Richard and Charles with you."

"They love parties," he pointed out.

"And wasn't Elizabeth there? So you had some good company." She paused, noting his countenance darkening. "Unless something happened?"

He gave her a strained smile and shrugged. The inquisitive look would not leave her eyes, but she dropped the subject. Her eyes flicked upward.

"Is that a new hat?" she asked.

He gripped the handle of his luggage a bit tighter.

"Yes."

She seemed to not have noticed the stressed undertone of his answer, or if she did, she chose not to comment on it. Instead, she threw him an affectionate glance accompanied by a warm smile.

"It's good to have you back, Will."

His heart warmed a bit.

Just a bit, though. After all, he now had an icebox where his heart used to be. If he let it get too warm, all of its contents could spoil.


	11. A Slight Change of Pace

**A/N-- …I wasn't going to write this chapter. I'd decided that this was going to be a Darcy-only POV thing, but, I guess… It wanted to be written. Oh, and this might not be that great of a pillow, sorry. I'll make up for it later, I promise. ;)  
**

**

* * *

**

Lizzy sat at the breakfast table, placidly chewing a spoonful of cold cereal. Her eyes were glazed over and her look was vacant; she was still half asleep, and took no pains to hide it.

The house she shared with her sister was empty. Jane had gone out to see William Darcy and his cousin Richard off. As far as she knew, their vacation was over. It was back to work for them.

She couldn't care less. Although she had to admit, she did find Richard to be an amusing companion.

Her mind inevitably found itself occupied with thoughts of Richard's cousin. Her brow furrowed, but her distant look remained.

William was... well, something about him didn't sit right with her. She'd never liked him much—especially at first. She almost snorted as she remembered the look on his face at the welcome party the neighbors threw for Charles. He'd looked like a crotchety old man that had spotted kids playing on his lawn. She couldn't exactly hold his not enjoying the party against him, to be sure, but it wasn't long before she realized that it wasn't _just_ the party that had tossed him into a disagreeable mood—oh no.

He thought himself _above _the company.

And more importantly, he thought himself above _her_.

She'd been shocked when he made certain unfavorable comments toward her, not even bothering to lower his voice for the sake of _private_ offense. And he had _seen_ her within earshot.

She was _sure_ of it.

Then again...

He _had_ apologized. And he'd baked a cake himself to show he truly was sorry. And as much as she wanted to attest the treat to motives of an easy bribe, he couldn't know of her affinity for baked goods. True, he'd seen her eat, and knew she was no Caroline when it came to her diet, but still. She could easily have said she hated sweets, and so that form of bribery would be null and void.

And he would know that, because he was William Darcy. That meant he was willing to take the risk of her not liking the cake. That meant he was willing to risk time and effort—and worry, if she recalled correctly. Which was a testament to his sincerity.

Call her paranoid, but that was her reasoning.

And from there, it seemed things got better. Marginally. But she couldn't quite shake the initial impression he had given off, even if he seemed to be trying to be friendly.

And then, of course, she'd met George Wickham.

She still seethed when she thought of how Darcy had callously treated him.

She angrily brought another spoonful up to her mouth only to find it empty. Surprised out of her musings, she looked down and saw that her bowl was empty. She scowled slightly, her stomach nowhere near satisfied, and rose to pour herself another bowl.

The noise the cereal made on contact with the bowl masked the sound of the front door opening nicely. When Lizzy turned around to get more milk, she nearly dropped her bowl. Jane stood at the edge of the table, draping her coat on one of the chairs.

"God, Jane, you scared the life out of me!" she said, a smile growing on her face as she calmed down.

Jane did not smile back.

"I'm sorry," she murmured politely. Lizzy raised a brow slightly.

"So have the visitors been successfully transported?" she asked. Jane flicked a look her way, but her eyes did not linger long on her sister. She nodded. Lizzy's other brow joined its complement in a furrow that bespoke faint confusion.

"Are you alright?"

This time, Jane looked her full in the face, giving her a small smile.

"I'm fine," she assured her. She took out an envelope from her pocket and held it out. "Here. This is for you."

Lizzy took it with a bit of surprise.

"The mail came already?"

Jane shook her head.

"I need to get a head start on my article," she said. "If you need me, I'll be in the office."

Lizzy smiled in acknowledgment. Jane left the room and Lizzy put the letter down next to her bowl on the counter. After her breakfast, she had to go into town for some urgent business.

The letter could wait.

* * *

Lizzy sighed and let herself fall onto her bed at the end of the day. She was positively _exhausted_. All day she'd been moving, and for the past three hours, she'd been running on empty. She could not _wait_ to turn in for the night....

She was drifting off, semiconscious on the bed, when it hit her. _That letter._ She groaned as she saw it in her mind's eye, sitting patiently on the kitchen counter, waiting to be read. She tried to dismiss it, but she knew it was in vain. That image would be burned into her mind, nagging, until she read it.

Lizzy sighed and got up, her body protesting with every movement. She trudged to the kitchen and flicked the light on. It was still there where she put it. She picked it up and took it back to her room.

She plopped back down on her bed and opened the envelope with as much care as one can bestow on an envelope when trying to open it as quickly as humanly possible. Which, for Lizzy, was a surprising amount.

The first thing she noticed was that the pages inside the envelope were lined. She grinned. So, this was an actual letter! That was unexpected. Pleasant, but unexpected. She wondered if it was from one of her little cousins, but no, it couldn't have been. For one thing, the handwriting on the envelope was unfamiliar. For another, it didn't have any information on it.

She frowned slightly in confusion. That was odd. How had it been mailed if there were no addresses? But then she remembered—Jane had hand delivered it to her. Someone must have given it directly to her, then. But who would need to give her a _letter_, of all things? And why?

She took out the sheets of paper inside and noticed another thing. This letter was _long_. The pages were written on both front and back. She unfolded the sheaves and looked at the first page. Whoever had written it had courteously numbered the pages.

_Elizabeth_, it began in a pleasingly even hand. _I would like to begin by saying that this is not a repetition of what I said—or what I wished to say—last night…._

Lizzy rubbed her eyes and yawned. If she wasn't thoroughly drained before, she was now. She closed her eyes, squeezing them tightly to ward off the stinging caused by overuse, and sighed.

Well, _that_ was quite the bombshell.

George Wickham... Good God, George Wickham! She felt the stirrings of red anger as she recalled a few certain points made wonderfully clear by that letter.

Wickham!

She simply _felt_ for a few moments, unable to form any coherent thoughts, letting the raw emotion crowd out any rational ideas. Slowly, the anger dissipated.

She was fast asleep even before it went away completely.

* * *

When Lizzy woke, it was far later than she had wanted it to be. She let out a panicked expletive as she saw the clock and quickly stumbled out of bed. The letter fluttered to the floor, coming to a rest at her feet. She stared at it.

Instantly, all its contents came back to her in a rush. She scooped it up, intent on rereading a few paragraphs. She had no doubt that she missed something last night. Elizabeth had been so tired, she'd had to read passages over and over again before they sunk in.

She glanced quickly at the clock and groaned. She was behind schedule. There was absolutely _no_ time for her to read now. Scowling at herself, she set the letter down. She would get to read it again.

Soon.

Perhaps at lunch.

* * *

She did not break her promise to herself. At lunch, she'd set off for the café she usually ate at. She'd been on a bit of an off and on holiday all month, so she hadn't hit the spot for a while, but that was over. Her vacation time was up. Pretty much the only thing she had to look forward to was the Christmas holiday.

Lizzy was not by nature a lazy person. She enjoyed working, most of the time. It was just that the past month had been so deuced stressful, it hadn't even felt like a vacation. She needed a vacation _from _her vacation.

Sighing, she pushed open the familiar glass doors and located her usual table. Before she even sat down, a long-time waitress named Jenny was at her side.

"Hello, Lizzy!" she greeted with a smile. "How was your vacation?"

Elizabeth returned the smile.

"It's been alright," she shrugged. "Kind of counterproductive, but I'll live. The year's almost over, anyway."

"Oh, one of _those_," Jenny murmured sympathetically. "Sorry about that."

Lizzy shrugged again.

"So what can I get you? Would you like a menu, or...?"

"No, I'm good. I'll just have the usual."

Jenny smiled.

"Alright, then. It'll be out shortly."

They parted with smiles and Lizzy was finally granted the opportunity to read her letter. She took it out of her pocket and carefully unfolded it, laying it on the table and smoothing it out. She leaned over it and earnestly pored over the contents.

She was in the middle of the paragraph that explained George's manipulation of Georgiana Darcy for money when Jenny returned with her order. Lizzy looked up quickly with an expression that was almost guilty. The waitress set the plate down.

"You alright, Liz?" Jenny peered at her curiously with no small amount of concern.

"Yeah, I'm fine." She glanced down at the papers. Jenny noticed this.

"What are those?" she asked. Lizzy subtly tried to cover them up. She shook her head.

"Nothing," she answered quickly.

"Oh..." Jenny could sense that Elizabeth wasn't in a chatty mood. "Alright, then. Can I get you anything else?"

Lizzy shook her head. With that, the waitress left, and she was able to get back to her missive.

* * *

Lizzy had finished her meal and her letter and was ready to leave. She got up and quietly thanked her café friend, leaving the tip on the table as was customary. She left in a somber mood.

Outside, she started walking. She'd only gotten to the corner when she noticed a familiar figure crossing the street. She started, then clenched her teeth as her blood ran cold.

Oh, how _fabulously_ coincidental.

He crossed over and entered the café. On a particularly powerful impulse, she turned on her heel and walked back, intent on confronting him.

She entered after him, her eyes brimming with suppressed anger. She quickly found him sitting in a corner, wearing a smooth smile and chatting up the waitress. Jenny's face was flushed, and she smiled bashfully.

Lizzy bit back the nasty barb on her tongue and swallowed her ire. She waited patiently until he'd ordered and Jenny turned to leave.

"Oh... Hi, again." Jenny's face bespoke her confusion. "Did you forget something?"

Lizzy tried smiling.

"Sort of," she said. George Wickham, at that moment, chose to acknowledge her. His eyes flitted quickly to the side before resting on her.

"Lizzy!" he exclaimed with just enough rasp in his voice to convince someone he had been sick for a while. He smiled tiredly at her. She smiled back frostily.

"Would you like to sit down?" he asked, before coughing lightly. "I had to get out. I can't stand being cooped up, you know, and I really needed some good food. All I've been having is canned soup; you can imagine how old that gets...."

He trailed off, taking in her expression. He gave her another hesitant smile. This time, it was troubled.

"That's all right, George, I'll stand."

"Oh." He looked around. "I'm sorry I couldn't come to that party. How was it?"

"It was fine," she answered shortly.

"Oh."

"Yes. Actually, because of that party, I learned some things."

"Learned some things?"

"Yes. You know, I got to talk to Darcy."

"You did!" He was looking distinctly uncomfortable now. "Well, I'm sorry for that. Tell me, was he just as rude as ever?"

She smiled.

"I'm sure you are sorry for that," she said, ignoring his lunge for an opportunity to belittle the man. "I'm not, though. There are a couple things I learned about you. You know. Stories about the past." She waved her hand as if it were unimportant. "And I learned some more recent things you've done."

"Oh," he said lamely.

"Yes. _Oh_." Lizzy then noticed a few curious faces turned their way. Some instantly were averted when discovered, others stared back shamelessly.

She looked back to George and lowered her voice, stepping closer so her words wouldn't carry.

"I know what you did to Georgiana Darcy."

He paled. She stepped back and smiled again.

"I think it would be best if we didn't see each other anymore."

George licked his lips apprehensively and his eyes flicked from one side of the café to the other.

"What, and you're just gonna believe Darcy? You know how he is!"

She regarded him with a calculated look.

"Yes. I think I do." She flicked a glance toward Jenny.

"Be careful with this one," she said, jabbing a thumb in Wickham's direction. Without ceremony, Elizabeth Bennet exited the café.

* * *

In all actuality, Lizzy's final statement to George bothered her. It nagged at the back of her head all day, making her tense and distracted. A few of her colleagues had remarked on it, only to receive unsatisfactory answers and tight smiles. At least now, at home, she didn't have to assume a normal façade.

Her statement was a lie. It had left her mouth after a short time of contemplation in which she thought she'd _started_ to see the real Will Darcy in her memories. But she'd had time to reflect after that.

And she was honestly, completely confused.

She knew Wickham was a liar. She had enough faith in the letter's contents to ensure that. Darcy wouldn't make something like that up. She at least knew _that_ much about him.

But then, who exactly was _he_? Wickham had called him everything under the sun, and she had agreed with many of those things, but Wickham was no longer a reliable source. In order for _him_ to be popular, Darcy had to be disliked, so it would be natural that he would exaggerate. But _what_ did he exaggerate? And how much did he exaggerate it?

Her brow furrowed. She was starting to get a headache.

She looked out the window in an attempt to clear her head. It was starting to get dark outside. Jane should've been on her way home from the grocery store by now.

"Lizzy?" As if on cue, she heard her sister's voice floating down the hallway. In a few short moments, Jane had found her. "Lizzy, I got the..." She trailed off as she took in her sister's countenance. It was made exhausted from all Lizzy's mental exertions throughout the day.

"Lizzy, are you alright?"

Elizabeth smiled tiredly.

"Jane, I need to tell you something."


End file.
